


BEQUEST OF 

ALBERT ADSIT CLEMONS 
(Not available for exchange) 





EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY 
EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS 


FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 

"rur, H 


FAIRY TALES FROM HANS 
CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 
ILLUSTRATED BY THE 
BROTHERS ROBINSON 


THE PUBLISHERS OF 

L1B C B^A C RY WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND 
FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST 
OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED 
VOLUMES TO BE COMPRISED UNDER 
THE FOLLOWING TWELVE HEADINGS: 


TRAVEL ^ SCIENCE ^ FICTION 
THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY 
HISTORY ^ CLASSICAL 
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
ESSAYS ^ ORATORY 
POETRY & DRAMA 
BIOGRAPHY 
ROMANCE 



IN TWO STYLES OF BINDING, CLOTH, 
FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP, AND 
LEATHER, ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP. 


London : J. M. DENT & CO. 
New York: E. P. DUTTON & CO. 



























fgpggiiiSJis 

fflfflrAIRY 

M.G.OLD, 

BOY ; IfAND 



FAIRY •-? ■-.? 
TALES FROM 
A- ST- HANS 
CHRISTIAN 
ANDERSEN ? 



LONDON : PUBLISHED 
by JMDENT- & CO 
AND IN NEW YORK 
BY E-P- DUTTON &CO 





First Edition of this issue, February 1906 
Reprinted, April 1906 ; July 1907 ; October 1909 


All rights reserved 


Bequest 

Albert Adsit Clemons 
Aug. 24, 1938 
(Not available for exchange) 


Editor’s Note 


- When Hans Christian Andersen was a child, he was almost as 
... poor as the “little match-seller” in one of his own tales. He was 
born a hundred years ago (1805), and his father was a cobbler, 
N who had ill-health to struggle with and died before Hans was 
twelve years old. After that the boy did not even go to school 
for a time ; but amused himself with a toy theatre, — dressing 
up dolls to act plays in it and no doubt dreaming of the tales 
he was afterwards to tell to the world. He left his native place, 
Odense, and went up to Copenhagen when he was fourteen. 
There he had almost starved ; but he found friends, and King 
Frederick VI. was persuaded by one of them to send him to a 
grammar school. He was still very slow at his lessons, and 
remained at school far past the usual age. But he began to 
write poetry while he was still a boy ; and one of his early 
poems “ The Dying Child,” not only helped to gain him friends, 
but has become known all the world over. The Fairy Tales by 
which we know him best to-day first began to appear in 1835 : 
he was then thirty years of age. These wonderful stories were 
so simple that people did not at once see how good they were ; 
and it was a very long time before his own countrymen would bring 
themselves to believe that the unlucky Hans they had known in 
boyhood was one of the world’s best story-tellers. 

Besides these stories, — old folk-tales and new Fairy Tales, — 
he wrote romances, plays, and books of travel ; for he was much 
more anxious to please big people, than delight small ones. He 
travelled abroad, went to Italy and Spain ; and wrote about 
what he saw there. But he was still at his best, when he only 
went as far as the Fairy Land that lies at one’s own doors. His 
last book of Fairy Tales was given to the world in 1872. Three 
years later, he died, when he had just reached his three score 
years and ten ; and all the world mourned for the poor Odense 
cobbler’s marvellous son. 


1906. 









































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Contents 


The Mermaid 
Hans Clodhopper 
The Flying Trunk 
The Rose Elf 
The Wild Swans . 

The Elf-Hill 
The Real Princess 
A Picture from the Ramparts 
The Red Shoes . 

Thumbelisa 

The Goblin and the Huckster 
The Bottle Neck 
The Steadfast Tin Soldier . 
The Angel 

The Butterfly , « 

Psyche .... 
The Snail and the Rose-bush 
The Girl who trod on a Loaf 
The Nightingale 
The Storks 

The Little Match Girl 
Great Claus and Little Claus 
The Garden of Paradise 


FAGB 

, I 

• 22 
. 26 
32 

37 

53 

. 60 

. 62 

63 
69 
79 

• 83 
92 
97 

. 101 

. 104 

. 116 

. 119 

- 127 

- 136 

. 141 

. 144 

• 155 

lx 


x Contents 


Little Tuk 

* 

• 

% 

« 

PAGE 

168 

The Wind’s Tale . 



t 

0 

173 

The Snow Queen. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

183 

A Rose from Homer’s Grave 

* 

t 


» 

213 

The Emperor’s New Clothes 

6 

ft 

0 

• 

215 

The Naughty Boy 

4 

ft 

• 

• 

221 

Holger the Dane 


«• 

• 

• 

223 

What the Moon saw 

• 


• 

• 

228 

The Tinder Box . 

• 

• 


• 

260 

The Story of a Mother 

• 

• 


• 

267 

The Marsh King’s Daughter 

« 

• 


• 

272 

The Goloshes of Fortune 

• 

• 


• 

305 

The Bronze Boar 

• 

• 

« 

• 

329 

The Bell . 

• 

a 

• 

• 

339 

Ol£ Lukoi£, the Dustman 

• 

• 

• 

• 

345 

The Swineherd . 

• 

• 

# 

• 

355 

The Travelling Companions 

• 

* 

• 

1 

361 

The Ugly Duckling 

0 

4 

. 

• 

379 


HANS ANDERSEN’S 
FAIRY TALES 

The Mermaid 

Ear out at sea the water is as blue as the bluest cornflower, 
and as clear as the clearest crystal ; but it is very deep, too 
deep for any cable to fathom, and if many steeples were 
piled on the top of one another they would not reach from 
the bed of the sea to the surface of the water. It is down 
there that the Mermen live. 

Now don’t imagine that there are only bare white sand* 
at the bottom ; oh no ! the most wonderful trees and plants 
grow there, with such flexible stalks and leaves, that at the 
slightest motion of the water they move just as if they were 
alive. All the fish, big and little, glide among the branches 
just as, up here, birds glide through the air. The palace of 
the Merman King lies in the very deepest part; its walls 
are of coral and the long pointed windows of the clearest 
amber, but the roof is made of mussel shells which open 
and shut with the lapping of the water. This has a lovely 
effect, for there are gleaming pearls in every shell, any one 
of which would be the pride of a queen’s crown. 

The Merman King had been for many years a widower, 
but his old mother kept house for him; she was a clever 
woman, but so proud of her noble birth that she wore 
twelve oysters on her tail, while the other grandees were 
only allowed six. Otherwise she was worthy of all praise, 
especially because she was so fond of the little mermaid 
princesses, her grandchildren. They were six beautiful 
children, but the youngest was the prettiest of all, her skin 
was as soft and delicate as a roseleaf, her eyes as blue as the 
deepest sea, but like all the others she had no feet, and 
instead of legs she had a fish’s tail. 


2 


The Mermaid 

All the livelong day they used to play in the palace in 
the great halls, where living flowers grew out of the walls. 
When the great amber windows were thrown open the fish 
swam in, just as the swallows fly into our rooms when we 
open the windows, but the fish swam right up to the little 
princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to 
be patted. 

Outside the palace was a large garden, with fiery red and 
deep blue trees, the fruit of which shone like gold, while the 
flowers glowed like fire on their ceaselessly waving stalks. 
The ground was of the finest sand, but it was of a blue 
phosphorescent tint. Everything was bathed in a wondrous 
blue light down there; you might more readily have sup- 
posed yourself to be high up in the air, with only the sky 
above and below you, than that you were at the bottom of 
the ocean. In a dead calm you could just catch a glimpse 
of the sun like a purple flower with a stream of light radiat- 
ing from its calyx. 

Each little princess had her own little plot of garden, 
where she could dig and plant just as she liked. One made 
her flower-bed in the shape of a whale, another thought it 
nice to have hers like a little mermaid; but the youngest 
made hers quite round like the sun, and she would only have 
flowers of a rosy hue like its beams. She was a curious 
child, quiet and thoughtful, and while the other sisters 
decked out their gardens with all kinds of extraordinary 
objects which they got from wrecks, she would have nothing 
besides the rosy flowers like the sun up above, except a 
statue of a beautiful boy. It was hewn out of the purest 
white marble and had gone to the bottom from some wreck. 
By the statue she planted a rosy red weeping willow which 
grew splendidly, and the fresh delicate branches hung round 
and over it, till they almost touched the blue sand where 
the shadows showed violet, and were ever moving like the 
branches. It looked as if the leaves and the roots were 
playfully interchanging kisses. 

Nothing gave her greater pleasure than to hear about the 
world of human beings up above ; she made her old grand- 
mother tell her all that she knew about ships and towns, 
people and animals. But above all it seemed strangely 
beautiful to her that up on the earth the flowers were scented, 
for they were not so at the bottom of the sea ; also that the 
woods were green, and that the fish which were to be seeD 


The Mermaid 3 

among the branches could sing so loudly and sweetly that it 
was a delight to listen to them. You see the grandmother 
called little birds fish, or the mermaids would not haye 
understood her, as they had never seen a bird. 

“ When you are fifteen,” said the grandmother, “ you 
will be allowed to rise up from the sea and sit on the rocks 
in the moonlight, and look at the big ships sailing by, and 
you will also see woods and towns.” 

One of the sisters would be fifteen in the following year, 
but the others, — well, they were each one year younger than 
the other, so that the youngest had five whole years to wait 
before she would be allowed to come up from the bottom, 
to see what things were like on earth. But each one pro- 
mised the others to give a full account of all that she had 
seen, and found most wonderful on the first day. Their 
grandmother could never tell them enough, for there were 
so many things about which they wanted information. 

None of them was so full of longings as the youngest, the 
very one who had the longest time to wait, and who was so 
quiet and dreamy. Many a night she stood by the open 
windows and looked up through the dark blue water which 
the fish were lashing with their tails and fins. She could see 
the moon and the stars, it is true, their light was pale but 
they looked much bigger through the water than they do to 
our eyes. When she saw a dark shadow glide between her 
and them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming 
above her, or else a ship laden with human beings. I am 
certain they never dreamt that a lovely little mermaid was 
standing down below, stretching up her white hands towards 
the keel. 

The eldest princess had now reached her fifteenth 
birthday, and was to venture above the water. When she 
came back she had hundreds of things to tell them, but the 
most delightful of all, she said, was to lie in the moonlight, 
on a sandbank in a calm sea, and to gaze at the large town 
close to the shore, where the lights twinkled like hundreds 
of stars; to listen to music and the noise and bustle of 
carriages and people, to see the many church towers and 
spires, and to hear the bells ringing ; and just because she 
could not go on shore she longed for that most of all. 

Oh ! how eagerly the youngest sister listened, and when, 
later in the evening she stood at the open window and looked 
up through the dark blue water, she thought of the big town 


4 The Mermaid 

with all its noise and bustle, and fancied that she could even 
hear the church bells ringing. 

The year after, the second sister was allowed to mount 
up through the water and swim about wherever she liked. 
The sun was just going down when she reached the surface, 
the most beautiful sight, she thought, that she had ever seen. 
The whole sky had looked like gold, she said, and as for 
the clouds ! well, their beauty was beyond description, they 
floated in red and violet splendour over her head, and, far 
faster than they went, a flock of wild swans flew like a long 
white veil over the water towards the setting sun ; she swam 
towards it, but it sank and all the rosy light on clouds and 
water faded away. 

The year after that the third sister went up, and being 
much the most venturesome of them all, swam up a broad 
river which ran into the sea. She saw beautiful green, vine- 
clad hills; palaces and country seats peeping through splendid 
woods. She heard the birds singing, and the sun was so hot 
that she was often obliged to dive, to cool her burning face. 
In a tiny bay she found a troop of little children running 
about naked and paddling in the water ; she wanted to play 
with them, but they were frightened and ran away. Then a 
little black animal came up, it was a dog, but she had never 
seen one before ; it barked so furiously at her that she was 
frightened and made for the open sea. She could never 
forget the beautiful woods, the green hills and the lovely 
children who could swim in the water although they had no 
fishes’ tails. 

The fourth sister was not so brave, she stayed in the 
remotest part of the ocean, and, according to her account, 
that was the most beautiful spot. You could see for miles 
and miles around you, and the sky above was like a great 
glass dome. She had seen ships, but only far away, so that 
they looked like sea-gulls. There were grotesque dolphins 
turning somersaults, and gigantic whales squirting water 
through their nostrils like hundreds of fountains on every side. 

Now the fifth sister’s turn came. Her birthday fell in the 
winter, so that she saw sights that the others had not seen 
on their first trips. The sea looked quite green, and large 
icebergs were floating about, each one of which looked like 
a pearl, she said, but was much bigger than the church 
towers built by men. They took the most wonderful shapes, 
and sparkled like diamonds. She had seated herself on 


The Mermaid 5 

one of the largest, and all the passing ships sheered of in 
alarm when they saw her sitting their with her long hair 
streaming loose in the wind. 

In the evening the sky became overcast with dark clouds ; 
it thundered and lightened, and the huge icebergs glittering 
in the bright lightning, were lifted high into the air by the 
black waves. All the ships shortened sail, and there was 
fear and trembling on every side, but she sat quietly on 
her floating iceberg watching the blue lightning flash in 
zigzags down on to the shining sea. 

The first time any of the sisters rose above the water she 
was delighted by the novelties and beauties she saw; but 
once grown up, and at liberty to go where she liked, she 
became indifferent and longed for her home ; in the course 
of a month or so they all said that after all their own home 
in the deep was best, it was so cosy there. 

Many an evening the five sisters interlacing their arms 
would rise above the water together. They had lovely 
voices, much clearer than any mortal, and when a storm was 
rising, and they expected ships to be wrecked, they would 
sing in the most seductive strains of the wonders of the 
deep, bidding the seafarers have no fear of them. But the 
sailors could not understand the words, they thought it was 
the voice of the storm; nor could it be theirs to see this 
Elysium of the deep, for when the ship sank they were 
drowned, and only reached the Merman’s palace in death. 
When the elder sisters rose up in this manner, arm-in-arm, 
in the evening, the youngest remained behind quite alone, 
looking after them as if she must weep, but mermaids have 
no tears and so they suffer all the more. 

“ Oh ! if I were only fifteen ! ” she said, “ I know how 
fond I shall be of the world above, and of the mortals who 
dwell there.” 

At last her fifteenth birthday came. 

“Now we shall have you off our hands,” said her grand- 
mother, the old queen dowager. “ Come now, let me adorn 
you like your other sisters ! ” and she put a wreath of white 
lilies round her hair, but every petal of the flowers was half 
a pearl ; then the old queen had eight oysters fixed on to the 
princess’s tail to show her high rank. 

“ But it hurts so ! ” said the little mermaid. 

“ You must endure the pain for the sake of the finery ! " 
said her grandmother. 


6 The Mermaid 

But oh ! how gladly would she have shaken off all this 
splendour, and laid aside the heavy wreath. Her red flowers 
in her garden suited her much better, but she did not dare 
to make any alteration. “ Good-bye,” she said, and mounted 
as lightly and airily as a bubble through the water. 

The sun had just set when her head rose above the water, 
but the clouds were still lighted up with a rosy and golden 
splendour, and the evening star sparkled in the soft pink sky, 
the air was mild and fresh, and the sea as calm as a millpond. 
A big three-masted ship lay close by with only a single sail 
set, for there was not a breath of wind, and the sailors 
were sitting about the rigging, on the cross-trees, and at the 
mast-heads. There was music and singing on board, and as 
the evening closed in, hundreds of gaily coloured lanterns 
were lighted — they looked like the flags of all nations waving 
in the air. The little mermaid swam right up to the cabin 
windows, and every time she was lifted by the swell she 
could see through the transparent panes crowds of gaily 
dressed people. The handsomest of them all was the young 
prince with large dark eyes ; he could not be much more 
than sixteen, and all these festivities were in honour of his 
birthday. The sailors danced on deck, and when the prince 
appeared among them hundreds of rockets were let off 
making it as light as day, and frightening the little mermaid 
so much that she had to dive under the water. She soon 
ventured up again, and it was just as if all the stars of heaven 
were falling in showers round about her. She had never 
seen such magic fires. Great suns whirled round, gorgeous 
fire-fish hung in the blue air, and all was reflected in the 
calm and glassy sea. It was so light on board the ship that 
every little rope could be seen, and the people still better. 
Oh ! how handsome the prince was, how he laughed and 
smiled as he greeted his guests, while the music rang out in 
the quiet night. 

It got quite late, but the little mermaid could not take 
her eyes off the ship and the beautiful prince. The 
coloured lanterns were put out, no more rockets were 
sent up, and the cannon had ceased its thunder, but 
deep down in the sea there was a dull murmuring and 
moaning sound. Meanwhile she was rocked up and 
down on the waves, so that she could look into the cabin ; 
but the ship got more and more way on, sail after sail was 
filled by the wind, the waves grew stronger, great clouds, 


The Mermaid 7 

gathered, and it lightened in the distance. Oh, there was 
going to be a fearful storm ! and soon the sailors had to 
shorten sail. The great ship rocked and rolled as she dashed 
over the angry sea, the black waves rose like mountains, 
high enough to overwhelm her, but she dived like a swan 
through them and rose again and again on their towering 
crests. The little mermaid thought it a most amusing race, 
but not so the sailors. The ship creaked and groaned, the 
mighty timbers bulged and bent under the heavy blows, the 
water broke over the decks, snapping the main mast like a 
reed, she heeled over on her side and the water rushed into 
the hold. 

Now the little mermaid saw that they were in danger and 
she had for her own sake to beware of the floating beams 
and wreckage. One moment it was so pitch dark that she 
could not see at all, but when the lightning flashed it became 
so light that she could see all on board. Every man was 
looking out for his own safety as best he could, but she 
more particularly followed the young prince with her eyes, 
and when the ship went down she saw him sink in the deep 
sea. At first she was quite delighted, for now he was com- 
ing to be with her, but then she remembered that human 
beings could not live under water, and that only if he were 
dead could he go to her father’s palace. No ! he must not 
die; so she swam towards him all among the drifting beams 
and planks, quite forgetting that they might crush her. She 
dived deep down under the water, and came up again 
through the waves, and at last reached the young prince just 
as he was becoming unable to swim any further in the stormy 
sea. His limbs were numbed, his beautiful eyes were closing, 
and he must have died if the little mermaid had not come 
to the rescue. She held his head above the water and let 
the waves drive them whithersoever they would. 

By daybreak all the storm was over, of the ship not a 
trace was to be seen ; the sun rose from the water in radiant 
brilliance and his rosy beams seemed to cast a glow of life 
into the prince’s cheeks, but his eyes remained closed. The 
mermaid kissed his fair and lofty brow, and stroked back the 
dripping hair ; it seemed to her that he was like the marble 
statue in her little garden, she kissed him again and longed 
that he might live. 

At last she saw dry land before her, high blue mountains 
on whose summits the white snow glistened as if a flock of 

B 


8 The Mermaid 

swans had settled there ; down by the shore were beautiful 
green woods, and in the foreground a church or temple, she 
did not quite know which, but it was a building of some 
sort. Lemon and orange trees grew in the garden and lofty 
palms stood by the gate. At this point the sea formed a 
little bay where the water was quite calm, but very deep, 
right up to the cliffs ; at their foot was a strip of fine white 
sand to which she swam with the beautiful prince, and laid 
him down on it, taking great care that his head should rest 
high up in the warm sunshine. 

The bells now began to ring in the great white building 
and a number of young maidens came into the garden. 
Then the little mermaid swam further off behind some high 
rocks and covered her hair and breast with foam, so that no 
one should see her little face, and then she watched to see 
who would discover the poor prince. 

It was not long before one of the maidens came up to 
him, at first she seemed quite frightened, but only for a 
moment, and then she fetched several others, and the 
mermaid saw that the prince was coming to life, and that 
he smiled at all those around him, but he never smiled at 
her, you see he did not know that she had saved him ; she 
felt so sad that when he was led away into the great build- 
ing she dived sorrowfully into the water and made her way 
home to her father’s Palace. 

Always silent and thoughtful, she became more so now 
than ever. Her sisters often asked her what she had seen 
on her first visit to the surface, but she never would tell 
them anything. 

Many an evening and many a morning she would rise to 
the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruit 
in the garden ripen, and then gathered, she saw the snow 
melt on the mountain-tops, but she never saw the prince, so 
she always went home still sadder than before. At home 
her only consolation was to sit in her little garden with her 
arms twined round the handsome marble statue which 
reminded her of the prince. It was all in gloomy shade 
now, as she had ceased to tend her flowers and the garden 
had become a neglected wilderness of long stalks and leaves 
entangled with the branches of the tree. 

At last she could not bear it any longer, so she told one of 
her sisters, and from her it soon spread to the others, but to 
no one else except to one or two other mermaids who only 


The Mermaid 9 

told their dearest friends. One of these knew all about the 
prince, she had also seen the festivities on the ship ; she 

knew where he came from and where his kingdom was 

situated. 

“Come, little sister!” said the other princesses, and, 

throwing their arms round each other’s shoulders, they rose 
from the water in a long line, just in front of the prince’s 
palace. 

It was built of light yellow glistening stone, with great 
marble staircases, one of which led into the garden. Magnifi- 
cent gilded cupolas rose above the roof, and the spaces 
between the columns which encircled the building were filled 
with life-like marble statues. Through the clear glass of the 
lofty windows you could see gorgeous halls adorned with 
costly silken hangings, and the pictures on the walls were a 
sight worth seeing. In the midst of the central hall a large 
fountain played, throwing its jets of spray upwards to a glass 
dome in the roof, through which the sunbeams lighted up 
the water and the beautiful plants which grew in the great 
basin. 

She knew now where he lived and often used to go there 
in the evenings and by night over the water; she swam 
much nearer the land than any of the others dared, she even 
ventured right up the narrow channel under the splendid 
marble terrace which threw a long shadow over the water. 
She used to sit here looking at the young prince who thought 
he was quite alone in the clear moonlight. 

She saw him many an evening sailing about in his 
beautiful boat, with flags waving and music playing, she 
used to peep through the green rushes, and if the wind 
happened to catch her long silvery veil and anyone saw it, 
they only thought it was a swan flapping its wings. 

Many a night she heard the fishermen, who were fishing 
by torchlight, talking over the good deeds of the young 
prince; and she was happy to think that she had saved 
his life when he was drifting about on the waves, half dead, 
and she could not forget how closely his head had pressed 
her breast, and how passionately she had kissed him ; but 
he knew nothing of all this, and never saw her even in his 
dreams. 

She became fonder and fonder of mankind, and longed 
more and more to be able to live among them ; their world 
seemed so infinitely bigger than hers ; with their ships they 


io The Mermaid 

could scour the ocean, they could ascend the mountains 
high above the clouds, and their wooded, grass-grown lands 
extended further than her eye could reach. There was so 
much that she wanted to know, but her sisters could not 
give an answer to all her questions, so she asked her old 
grandmother who knew the upper world well, and rightly 
called it the country above the sea. 

“ If men are not drowned,” asked the little mermaid, 
“Do they live for ever, do they not die as we do down 
here in the sea ? ” 

“Yes,” said the old lady, “they have to die too, and 
their life time is even shorter than ours. We may live 
here for three hundred years, but when we cease to exist, 
we become mere foam on the water and do not have so 
much as a grave among our dear ones. We have no 
immortal souls, we have no future life, we are just like the 
green sea-weed, which, once cut down can never revive 
again ! Men, on the other hand, have a soul which lives 
for ever, lives after the body has become dust; it rises 
through the clear air, up to the shining stars! Just as we 
rise from the water to see the land of mortals, so they rise 
up to unknown beautiful regions which we shall never see.” 

“Why have we no immortal souls?” asked the little 
mermaid sadly. “ I would give all my three hundred years 
to be a human being for one day, and afterwards to have 
a share in the heavenly kingdom.” 

“You must not be thinking about that,” said the grand- 
mother, “ we are much better off and happier than human 
beings.” 

“Then I shall have to die and to float as foam on the 
water, and never hear the music of the waves or see the 
beautiful flowers or the red sun ! Is there nothing I can 
do to gain an immortal soul ? ” 

“No,” said the grandmother, “only if a human being 
so loved you, that you were more to him than father or 
mother, if all his thoughts and all his love were so centred 
in you that he would let the priest join your hands and 
would vow to be faithful to you here, and to all eternity ; 
then your body would become infused with his soul. Thus 
and only thus, could you gain a share in the felicity of 
mankind. He would give you a soul while yet keeping his 
own. But that can never happen ! That which is your 
greatest beauty in the sea, your fish’s tail, is thought 


The Mermaid 1 1 

hideous up on earth, so little do they understand about 
it ; to be pretty there you must have two clumsy supports 
which they call legs ! ” 

Then the little mermaid sighed and looked sadly at her 
fish’s tail. 

“ Let us be happy,” said the grandmother, “ we will hop 
and skip during our three hundred years of life, it is surely 
a long enough time, and after it is over, we shall rest all 
the better in our graves. There is to be a court ball 
to-night.” 

This was a much more splendid affair than we ever see 
on earth. The walls and the ceiling of the great ball room 
were of thick but transparent glass. Several hundreds 
of colossal mussel shells rose-red and grass-green, were 
ranged in order round the sides holding blue lights, which 
illuminated the whole room and shone through the walls, 
so that the sea outside was quite lit up. You could see 
countless fish, great and small, swimming towards the glass 
walls, some with shining scales of crimson hue, while others 
were golden and silvery. In the middle of the room was 
a broad stream of running water, and on this the mermaids 
and mermen danced to their own beautiful singing. No 
earthly beings have such lovely voices. The little mermaid 
sang more sweetly than any of them and they all applauded 
her. For a moment she felt glad at heart, for she knew 
that she had the finest voice either in the sea or on land. 
But she soon began to think again about the upper world, 
she could not forget the handsome prince and her sorrow 
in not possessing, like him, an immortal soul. Therefore 
she stole out of her father’s palace, and while all within was 
joy and merriment, she sat sadly in her little garden. 
Suddenly she heard the sound of a horn through the water, 
and she thought, “ now he is out sailing up there ; he whom 
I love more than father or mother, he to whom my thoughts 
cling and to whose hands I am ready to commit the 
happiness of my life. I will dare anything to win him 
and to gain an immortal soul ! While my sisters are 
dancing in my father’s palace, I will go to the sea witch 
of whom I have always been very much afraid, she will 
perhaps be able to advise and help me ! ” 

Thereupon the little mermaid left the garden and went 
towards the roaring whirlpools at the back of which the 
witch lived. She had never been that way before ; no 


12 


The Mermaid 

flowers grew there, no seaweed, only the bare grey sands, 
stretched towards the whirlpools, which like rushing mill- 
wheels swirled round, dragging everything that came within 
reach down to the depths. She had to pass between these 
boiling eddies to reach the witches’ domain, and for a long 
way the only path led over warm bubbling mud, which the 
witch called her “ peat bog.” Her house stood behind 
this in the midst of a weird forest. All the trees and bushes 
were polyps, half animal and half plant ; they looked like 
hundred-headed snakes growing out of the sand, the branches 
were long slimy arms, with tentacles like wriggling worms, 
every joint of which from the root to the outermost tip was 
in constant motion. They wound themselves tightly round 
whatever they could lay hold of and never let it escape. 
The little mermaid standing outside was quite frightened, 
her heart beat fast with terror and she nearly turned back, 
but then she remembered the prince and the immortal soul 
of mankind and took courage. She bound her long flowing 
hair tightly round her head, so that the polyps should not 
seize her by it, folded her hands over her breast, and darted 
like a fish through the water, in between the hideous polyps 
which stretched out their sensitive arms and tentacles 
towards her. She could see that every one of them had 
something or other, which they had grasped with their 
hundred arms, and which they held as if in iron bands. 
The bleached bones of men who had perished at sea and 
sunk below peeped forth from the arms of some, while 
others clutched rudders and sea chests, or the skeleton of 
some land animal ; and most horrible of all, a little mermaid 
whom they had caught and suffocated. Then she came to 
a large opening in the wood where the ground was all slimy, 
and where some huge fat w r ater snakes were gambolling 
about. In the middle of this opening w r as a house built 
of the bones of the wrecked ; there sat the witch, letting a 
toad eat out of her mouth, just as mortals let a little canary 
eat sugar. She called the hideous water snakes her little 
chickens, and allowed them to crawl about on her unsightly 
bosom. 

“ I know very well what you have come here for,” said 
the witch. “It is very foolish of you! all the same you 
shall have your way, because it will lead you into misfortune, 
my fine princess. You want to get rid of your fish’s tail, 
and instead to have two stumps to walk about upon like 


The Mermaid 13 

human beings, so that the young prince may fall in love 
with you, and that you may win him and an immortal soul.” 
Saying this, she gave such a loud hideous laugh that the 
toad and the snakes fell to the ground and wriggled about 
there. 

“You are just in the nick of time,” said the witch, “after 
sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you until 
another year had run its course. I will make you a potion, 
and before sunrise you must swim ashore with it, seat your- 
self on the beach and drink it ; then your tail will divide 
and shrivel up to what men call beautiful legs, but it hurts, 
it is as if a sharp sword were running through you. All 
who see you will say that you are the most beautiful child of 
man they have ever seen. You will keep your gliding gait, 
no dancer will rival you, but every step you take will be as 
if you were treading upon sharp knives, so sharp as to draw 
blood. If you are willing to suffer all this I am ready to 
help you ! ” * 

“ Yes ! ” said the little princess with a trembling voice,, 
thinking of the prince and of winning an undying soul. 

“But remember,” said the witch, “when once you have 
received a human form, you can never be a mermaid again, 
you will never again be able to dive down through the 
water to your sisters and to your father’s palace. And if 
you do not succeed in winning the prince’s love, so that 
for your sake he will forget father and mother, cleave to 
you with his whole heart, let the priest join your hands 
and make you man and wife, you will gain no immortal 
soul ! The first morning after his marriage with another 
your heart will break, and you will turn into foam of the 
sea.” 

“ I will do it,” said the little mermaid as pale as death. 

“But you will have to pay me, too,” said the witch, 

“ and it is no trifle that I demand. You have the most 
beautiful voice of any at the bottom of the sea, and I 
daresay that you think you will fascinate him with it, but 
you must give me that voice, I will have the best you 
possess in return for my precious potion ! I have to mingle 
my own blood with it so as to make it as sharp as a two- 
edged sword.” 

“ But if you take my voice,” said the little mermaid, 

“ what have I left ? ” 

“Your beautiful form,” said the witch, “your gliding 


14 The Mermaid 

gait, and your speaking eyes, with these you ought surely 
to be able to bewitch a human heart. Well ! have you lost 
courage ? Put out your little tongue and I will cut it off in 
payment for the powerful draught.” 

“ Let it be done,” said the little mermaid, and the witch 
put on her cauldron to brew the magic potion. “ There is 
nothing like cleanliness,” said she, as she scoured the pot 
with a bundle of snakes ; then she punctured her breast and 
let the black blood drop into the cauldron, and the steam 
took the most weird shapes, enough to frighten anyone. 
Every moment the witch threw new ingredients into the 
pot, and when it boiled the bubbling was like the sound of 
crocodiles weeping. At last the potion was ready and it 
looked like the clearest water. 

“ There it is,” said the witch, and thereupon she cut off 
the tongue of the little mermaid, who was dumb now and 
could neither sing nor speak. 

“If the polyps should seize you, when you go back 
through my wood,” said the witch, “just drop a single drop 
of this liquid on them, and their arms and fingers will burst 
into a thousand pieces.” But the little mermaid had no 
need to do this, for at the mere sight of the bright liquid 
which sparkled in her hand like a shining star, they drew 
back in terror. So she soon got past the wood, the bog, 
and the eddying whirlpools. 

She saw her father’s palace, the lights were all out in the 
great ballroom, and no doubt all the household was asleep, 
but she did not dare to go in now that she was dumb and 
about to leave her home for ever. She felt as if her heart 
would break with grief. She stole into the garden and 
plucked a flower from each of her sister’s plots, wafted with 
her hand countless kisses towards the palace, and then rose 
up through the dark blue water. 

The sun had not risen when she came in sight of the 
prince’s palace and landed at the beautiful marble steps. 
The moon was shining bright and clear. The little mermaid 
drank the burning, stinging draught, and it was like a sharp, 
two-edged sword running through her tender frame ; she 
fainted away and lay as if she were dead. When the sun 
rose on the sea she woke up and became conscious of a 
sharp pang, but just in front of her stood the handsome 
young prince, fixing his coal black eyes on her; she cast 
hers down and saw that her fish’s tail was gone, and that 


The Mermaid 15 

she had the prettiest little white legs any maiden could 
desire, but she was quite naked, so she wrapped her long 
thick hair around her. The prince asked who she was and 
how she came there, she looked at him tenderly and with a 
sad expression in her dark blue eyes, but could not speak. 
Then he took her by the hand and led her into the palace. 
Every step she took was, as the witch had warned her 
beforehand, as if she were treading on sharp knives and 
spikes but she bore it gladly ; led by the prince she moved 
as lightly as a bubble, and he and every one else marvelled 
at her graceful gliding gait. 

Clothed in the costliest silks and muslins she was the 
greatest beauty in the palace, but she was dumb and could 
neither sing nor speak. Beautiful slaves clad in silks and 
gold came forward and sang to the prince and his royal 
parents ; one of them sang better than all the others, and 
the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her; that made 
the little mermaid very sad, for she knew that she used to 
sing far better herself. She thought, “Oh ! if he only 
knew that for the sake of being with him I had given up my 
voice for ever ! ” Now the slaves began to dance, graceful 
undulating dances to enchanting music ; thereupon the little 
mermaid lifting her beautiful white arms and raising herself 
on tiptoe glided on the floor with a grace which none of the 
other dancers had yet attained. With every motion her 
grace and beauty became more apparent, and her eyes 
appealed more deeply to the heart than the songs of the 
slaves. Everyone was delighted with it, especially the prince, 
who called her his little foundling, and she danced on and 
on, notwithstanding that every time her foot touched the 
ground it was like treading on sharp knives. The prince 
said that she should always be near him, and she was allowed 
to sleep outside his door on a velvet cushion. 

He had a man’s dress made for her, so that she could 
ride about with him. They used to ride through scented 
woods, where the green branches brushed her shoulders, and 
little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed up 
the highest mountains with the prince, and although her 
delicate feet bled so that others saw it, she only laughed and 
followed him until they saw the clouds sailing below them 
like a flock of birds, taking flight to distant lands. 

At home in the prince’s palace, when at night the others 
were asleep, she used to go out on to the marble steps ; it 


16 The Mermaid 

cooled her burning feet to stand in the cold sea water, and 
at such times she used to think of those she had left in the 
deep. 

One night her sisters came arm in arm; they sang so 
sorrowfully as they swam on the water that she beckoned to 
them and they recognised her, and told her how she had 
grieved them all. After that they visited her every night, 
and one night she saw, a long way out, her old grandmother 
(who for many years had not been above the water), and the 
Merman King with his crown on his head ; they stretched 
out their hands towards her, but did not venture so close to 
land as her sisters. 

Day by day she became dearer to the prince, he loved her 
as one loves a good sweet child, but it never entered his 
head to make her his queen ; yet unless she became his wife 
she would never win an everlasting soul, but on his wedding 
morning would turn to sea foam. 

“ Am I not dearer to you than any of them ? ” the little 
mermaid’s eyes seemed to say when he took her in his arms 
and kissed her beautiful brow. 

“ Yes, you are the dearest one to me,” said the prince, 
“ for you have the best heart of them all, and you are fondest 
of me ; you are also like a young girl I once saw, but whom 
I never expect to see again. I was on board a ship which 
was wrecked, I was driven on shore by the waves close to a 
holy Temple where several young girls were ministering at a 
service ; the youngest of them found me on the beach and 
saved my life ; I saw her but twice. She was the only person 
I could love in this world, but you are like her, you almost 
drive her image out of my heart. She belongs to the holy 
Temple, and therefore by good fortune you have been sent 
to me, we will never part ! ” 

“ Alas ! he does not know that it was I who saved his life,” 
thought the little mermaid. “ I bore him over the sea to the 
wood, where the Temple stands. I sat behind the foam and 
watched to see if anyone would come. I saw the pretty girl 
he loves better than me.” And the mermaid heaved a 
bitter sigh, for she could not weep. 

“The girl belongs to the holy Temple, he has said, she will 
never return to the world, they will never meet again, I am 
here with him, I see him every day. Yes ! I will tend him, 
love him, and give up my life to him.” 

But now the rumour ran that the prince was to be married 


The Mermaid 17 

to the beautiful daughter of a neighbouring king, and for that 
reason was fitting out a splendid ship. It was given out that 
the prince was going on a voyage to see the adjoining 
countries, but it was without doubt to see the king’s daughter ; 
he was to have a great suite with him, but the little mermaid 
shook her head and laughed ; she knew the prince’s intentions 
much better than any of the others. “ I must take this 
voyage,” he had said to her; “I must go and see the 
beautiful princess; my parents demand that, but they will 
never force me to bring her home as my bride; I can never 
love her ! She will not be like the lovely girl in the Temple 
whom you resemble. If ever I had to choose a bride it 
would sooner be you with your speaking eyes, my sweet, 
dumb foundling ! ” And he kissed her rosy mouth, played 
with her long hair, and laid his head upon her heart, which 
already dreamt of human joys and an immortal soul. 

“ You are not frightened of the sea, I suppose, my dumb 
child ? ” he said, as they stood on the proud ship which was 
to carry them to the country of the neighbouring king; and 
he told her about storms and calms, about curious fish in 
the deep, and the marvels seen by divers ; and she smiled 
at his tales, for she knew all about the bottom of the sea 
much better than anyone else. 

At night, in the moonlight, when all were asleep, except 
the steersman who stood at the helm, she sat at the side of 
the ship trying to pierce the clear water with her eyes, and 
fancied she saw her father’s palace, and above it her old 
grandmother with her silver crown on her head, looking up 
through the cross currents towards the keel of the ship. 
Then her sisters rose above the water, they gazed sadly at 
her, wringing their white hands; she beckoned to them, 
smiled, and was about to tell them that all was going well 
and happily with her, when the cabin boy approached, and 
the sisters dived down, but he supposed that the white 
objects he had seen were nothing but flakes of foam. 

The next morning the ship entered the harbour of the 
neighbouring king’s magnificent city. The church bells 
rang and trumpets were sounded from every lofty tower, 
while the soldiers paraded with flags flying and glittering 
bayonets. There was a fete every day, there was a succes- 
sion of balls, and receptions followed one after the other, 
but the princess was not yet present, she was being brought 
up a long way off, in a holy Temple they said, and was 


1 8 The Mermaid 

learning all the royal virtues. At last she came. The little 
mermaid stood eager to see her beauty, and she was obliged 
to confess that a lovelier creature she had never beheld. Her 
complexion was exquisitely pure and delicate, and her trust- 
ful eyes of the deepest blue shone through their dark 
lashes. 

“ It is you,” said the prince, “you who saved me when I 
lay almost lifeless on the beach?” and he clasped his blush- 
ing bride to his heart. “ Oh ! I am too happy ! ” he ex- 
claimed to the little mermaid. 

“ A greater joy than I had dared to hope for has come to 
pass. You will rejoice at my joy, for you love me better 
than any one.” Then the little mermaid kissed his hand, 
and felt as if her heart were broken already. 

His wedding morn would bring death to her and change 
her to foam. 

All the church bells pealed and heralds rode through the 
town proclaiming the nuptials. Upon every altar through- 
out the land fragrant oil was burnt in costly silver lamps. 
Amidst the swinging of censers by the priests, the bride and 
bridegroom joined hands and received the bishop’s blessing. 
The little mermaid dressed in silk and gold stood holding 
the bride’s train, but her ears were deaf to the festal strains, 
her eyes saw nothing of the sacred ceremony, she was 
thinking of her coming death and of all that she had lost 
in this world. 

That same evening the bride and bridegroom embarked, 
amidst the roar of cannon and the waving of banners. A 
royal tent of purple and gold softly cushioned was raised 
amidships where the bridal pair were to repose during the 
calm cool night. 

The sails swelled in the wind and the ship skimmed 
lightly and almost without motion over the transparent sea. 

At dusk lanterns of many colours were lighted and the 
sailors danced merrily on deck. The little mermaid could 
not help thinking of the first time she came up from the 
sea and saw the same splendour and gaiety; and she now 
threw herself among the dancers, whirling, as a swallow 
skims through the air when pursued. The onlookers 
cheered her in amazement, never had she danced so divinely; 
her delicate feet pained her as if they were cut with knives, 
but she did not feel it, for the pain at her heart was much 
sharper. She knew that it was the last night that she would 


The Mermaid 19 

breathe the same air as he, and would look upon the 
mighty deep, and the blue starry heavens ; an endless night 
without thought and without dreams awaited her, who 
neither had a soul, nor could win one. The joy and 
revelry on board lasted till long past midnight, she went 
on laughing and dancing with the thought of death all 
the time in her heart. The prince caressed his lovely bride 
and she played with his raven locks, and with their arms 
entwined they retired to the gorgeous tent. All became 
hushed and still on board the ship, only the steersman 
stood at the helm, the little mermaid laid her white arms 
on the gunwale and looked eastwards for the pink tinted 
dawn; the first sunbeam, she knew would be her death. 
Then she saw her sisters rise from the water, they were as 
pale as she was, their beautiful long hair no longer floated 
on the breeze, for it had been cut off. 

“ VVe have given it to the witch to obtain her help, so 
that you may not die to-night ! she has given us a knife, 
here it is, look how sharp it is ! Before the sun rises, you 
must plunge it into the prince’s heart, and when his warm 
blood sprinkles your feet they will join together and grow 
into a tail, and you will once more be a mermaid ; you 
will be able to come down into the water to us, and to 
live out your three hundred years before you are turned 
into dead, salt, sea-foam. Make haste ! you or he must 
die before sunrise ! Our old grandmother is so full of 
grief that her white hair has fallen off as ours fell under the 
witch’s scissors. Slay the prince and come back to us ! 
Quick ! Quick ! do you not see the rosy streak in the sky? 
In a few moments the sun will rise and then you must die ! ” 
saying this they heaved a wondrous deep sigh and sank 
among the waves. 

The little mermaid drew aside the purple curtain from 
the tent and looked at the beautiful bride asleep with her 
head on the prince’s breast ; she bent over him and kissed 
his fair brow, looked at the sky where the dawn was 
spreading fast ; looked at the sharp knife, and again fixed 
her eyes on the prince who, in his dream called his bride 
by name, yes ! she alone was in his thoughts ! — For a 
moment the knife quivered in her grasp, then she threw it 
far out among the waves now rosy in the morning light and 
where it fell the water bubbled up like drops of blood. 

Once more she looked at the prince, with her eyes 


20 


The Mermaid 

already dimmed by death, then dashed overboard and fell, 
her body dissolving into foam. 

Now the sun rose from the sea and with its kindly 
beams warmed the deadly cold foam, so that the little 
mermaid did not feel the chill of death. She saw the 
bright sun and above her floated hundreds of beauteous 
ethereal beings through which she could see the white ship 
and the rosy heavens, their voices were melodious but so 
spirit-like that no human ear could hear them, any more 
than an earthly eye could see their forms. Light as bubbles 
they floated through the air without the aid of wings. 
The little mermaid perceived that she had a form like 
theirs, it gradually took shape out of the foam. “To 
whom am I coming ? ” said she, and her voice sounded 
like that of the other beings, so unearthly in its beauty 
that no music of ours could reproduce it. 

“To the daughters of the air!” answered the others, 
“ a mermaid has no undying soul, and can never gain one 
without winning the love of a human being. Her eternal 
life must depend upon an unknown power. Nor have the 
daughters of the air an everlasting soul, but by their own 
good deeds they may create one for themselves. We fly 
to the tropics where mankind is the victim of hot and 
pestilent winds, there we bring cooling breezes. We diffuse 
the scent of flowers all around, and bring refreshment and 
healing in our train. When, for three hundred years, we 
have laboured to do all the good in our power we gain an 
undying soul and take a part in the everlasting joys of 
mankind. You, poor little mermaid, have with your whole 
heart, struggled for the same thing as we have struggled for. 
You have suffered and endured, raised yourself to the spirit 
world of the air ; and now, by your own good deeds you 
may, in the course of three hundred years, work out for 
yourself an undying soul.” 

Then the little mermaid lifted her transparent arms 
towards God’s sun, and for the first time shed tears. 

On board ship all was again life and bustle, she saw the 
prince with his lovely bride searching for her, they looked 
sadly at the bubbling foam, as if they knew that she had 
thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she kissed the 
bride on her brow, smiled at the prince and rose aloft with 
the other spirits of the air to the rosy clouds which sailed 
above. 


The Mermaid 2 1 

“ In three hundred years we shall thus float into 
Paradise.” 

“ We might reach it sooner,” whispered one. “ Unseen 
we flit into those homes of men where there are children, 
and for every day that we find a good child who gives 
pleasure to its parents and deserves their love, God shortens 
our time of probation. The child does not know when we 
fly through the room, and when we smile with pleasure at 
it, one year of our three hundred is taken away. But if we 
see a naughty or badly disposed child, we cannot help 
shedding tears of sorrow, and every tear adds a day to the 
time of our probation.” 




Hans Clodhopper 

There was once an old mansion in the country, in which 
an old squire lived with his two sons, and these two sons 
were too clever by half. They had made up their minds to 
propose to the king’s daughter, and they ventured to do so, 
because she had made it known that she would take any 
man for a husband who had most to say for himself. These 
two took a week over their preparations ; it was all the time 
they had for it, but it was quite enough with all their accom- 
plishments, which were most useful. One of them knew the 
Latin Dictionary by heart, and the town newspapers for 
three years either forwards or backwards. The second one 
had made himself acquainted with all the statutes of the 
Corporations, and what every alderman had to know. So 
he thought he was competent to talk about affairs of state ; 
and he also knew how to embroider harness, for he was 
clever with his fingers. 

“I shall win the king’s daughter,” they both said, and 
their father gave each of them a beautiful horse. The one 
who could repeat the Dictionary and the newspapers had a 
coal-black one, while the one who was learned in Guilds 
and embroideries had a milk-white one. Then they smeared 
the corners of their mouths with oil to make them more 
flexible. All the servants were assembled in the court-yards 
to see them mount, but just then the third brother came up, 
for there were three, only nobody made any account of this 
one, Hans Clodhopper, as he had no accomplishments like 
his brothers. 


33 


Hans Clodhopper 23 

“ Where are you going with all your fine clothes on ? ” he 
asked. 

“To court, to talk ourselves into favour with the princess. 
Haven’t you heard the news which is being drummed all 
over the country ? ” And then they told him the news. 

“ Preserve us ! then I must go too,” said Hans Clod- 
hopper. But his brothers laughed and rode away. 

“ Father, give me a horse. I want to get married too. 
If she takes me, she takes me, and if she doesn’t take me, 
I shall take her all the same.” 

“Stuff and nonsense,” said his father, “I will give no 
horse to you. Why you have got nothing to say for yourself, 
now your brothers are fine fellows.” 

“If I mayn’t have a horse,” said Hans Clodhopper, “I’ll 
take the billy-goat, he is my own and he can carry me very 
well ! ” And he seated himself astride the billy-goat, dug 
his heels into its sides, and galloped off down the highroad. 
Whew ! what a pace they went at. 

“Here I come,” shouted Hans Clodhopper, and he sang 
till the air rang with it. 

The brothers rode on in silence, they did not say a word 
to each other, for they had to store up every good idea 
which they wanted to produce later on, and their speeches 
had to be very carefully thought out. 

“ Halloo ! ” shouted Hans Clodhopper, “ here I come ; 
see what I’ve found on the road,” and he shewed them a 
dead crow. 

“What on earth will you do with that, Clodhopper? ” said 
they. 

“ I will give it to the king’s daughter.” 

“ Yes, I would do that,” said they, and they rode on 
laughing. 

“Halloo, here I come; see what I have found; one 
doesn’t find such a thing as this every day on the road.” 
The brothers turned round to see what it was. 

“ Clodhopper,” said they, “it’s nothing but an old wooden 
shoe with the upper part broken off. Is the princess to 
have that too ? ” 

“ Yes indeed she is,” said Hans, and the brothers again 
rode on laughing. 

“ Halloo, halloo, here I am,” shouted Hans Clodhopper. 
“Now this is famous.” 

“ What have you found this time ? ” asked the brothers. 

c 


24 Hans Clodhopper 

“ Won’t the princess be delighted ! ” 

“ Why,” said the brothers, “ it’s only sand picked up out 
of the ditch ! ” 

“Yes, that it is,” said Hans Clodhopper, “and the finest 
kind of sand, too. You can hardly hold it.” And he filled 
his pockets with it. The brothers »-ode or? as fast as they 
could, and arrived at the town gates a whole hour before 
him. At the gate the suitors received tickets, in the order 
of their arrival, and they were arranged in rows, six in each 
file, and so close together that they could not move their 
arms which was a very good thing, or they would have torn 
each others garments off, merely because one stood in front 
of the other. All the other inhabitants of the town stood 
round the castle, peeping in at the windows to see the king’s 
daughter receive the suitors, and as each one came into the 
room he lost the power of speech. 

“No good,” said the princess, “away with him ! ” 

Now came the brother who could repeat the Lexicon, but 
he had entirely forgotten it while standing in the ranks. 
The floor creaked and the ceiling was made of looking-glass, 
so that he saw himself standing on his head ; and at every 
window sat three clerks and an alderman, who wrote down 
all that waj said, so that it might be sent to the papers at 
once, and sold for a halfpenny at the street corners. It was 
terrible, and the stoves had been heated to such a degree 
that they got red-hot at the top. 

“ It is terribly hot in here,” said the suitor. 

“ That is because my father is roasting cockerels to-day,” 
said the princess. 

Bah ! There he stood like a fool ; he had not expected a 
conversation of this kind, and he could not think of a word 
to say, just when he wanted to be specially witty. 

“No good,” said the king’s daughter, “away with him,” 
and he had to go. 

Then came the second brother. “ There’s a fearful heat 
here,” said he. 

“ Yes, we are roasting cockerels to-day,” said the king’s 
daughter. 

“What did — what?” said he, and all the reporters duly 
wrote “What did — what.” 

“No good,” said the king’s daughter, “away with him.” 

Then came Hans Clodhopper. He rode the billy-goat 
right into the room. 


25 


Hans Clodhopper 

“ What a burning heat you have here,” said he. 

“ That is because I am roasting cockerels,” said the king’s 
daughter. 

“ That is very convenient,” said Hans Clodhopper ; “ then 
I suppose I can get a crow roasted, too.” 

“ Yes, very well,” said the king’s daughter : “ but have 
you anything to roast it in ? For I have neither pot nor 
pan.” 

“ But I have,” said Hans Clodhopper. “ Here is a cook- 
ing pot.” And he brought out the wooden shoe and put the 
crow into it. 

“Why you have enough for a whole meal,” said the king’s 
daughter ; “ but where shall we get any dripping to baste it 
with ? ” 

“ Oh, I have some in my pocket,” said Hans Clodhopper; 
“ I have enough and to spare,” and he poured a little of the 
sand out of his pocket. 

“Now I like that,” said the princess; “you have an 
answer for everything, and you have something to say for 
yourself. I will have you for a husband. But do you know 
that every word we have said will be in the paper to-morrow, 
for at every window sit three clerks and an alderman, and 
the alderman is the worst, for he doesn’t understand.” She 
said this to frighten him. All the clerks sniggered and made 
blots of ink on the floor. 

“ Oh, those are the gentry,” said Hans Clodhopper; “then 
I must give the alderman the best thing I have,” and he 
turned out his pockets and threw the sand in his face. 

“That was cleverly done,” said the princess, “ I couldn’t 
have done it, but I will try to learn.” 

So Hans Clodhopper became king, gained a wife and a 
crown and sat upon the throne. We have this straight out 
of the alderman’s newspaper, but it is not to be depended 
upon. 


The Flying Trunk 

There was once a merchant who was so rich that he might 
have paved the whole street, and a little alley besides, 
with silver money. But he didn’t do it — he knew better how 
to use his money than that : if he laid out a penny, he got 
half a crown in return, such a clever man of business was 
he — and then he died. 

His son got all the money, and he led a merry life ; he 
used to go to masquerades every night, made kites of bank 
notes, and played ducks and drakes with gold coins instead 
of stones. In this way the money soon went. At last he 
had only a penny left, and no clothes except an old dressing- 
gown and a pair of slippers. His friends cared for him no 
longer, they couldn’t walk about the streets with him ; but 
one of them who was kind sent him an old trunk, and said, 
“ Pack up.” Now this was all very well, but he had nothing 
to pack, so he got into the trunk himself. 

It was a most peculiar trunk. If you pressed the lock 
the trunk could fly ; and this is what happened : with a 
whiz it flew up the chimney, high above the clouds, further 
and further away. The bottom of it cracked ominously, 
and he was dreadfully afraid it would go to pieces, and a 
nice fall he would have had ! Heaven preserve us ! At 
last he arrived in the country of the Turks. He hid the trunk 
in a wood under the dead leaves, and walked into the town ; 
he could easily do that, as all the Turks wear dressing-gowns 
and slippers, you know, just like his. He met a nurse with 
a baby. “ I say, you Turkish nurse,” said he, “what is that 
big palace close to the town, where all the windows are so 
high up ? ” 

“ That’s where the king’s daughter lives,” said she ; “ it 
has been prophesied that she will be made very unhappy by 
a lover, so no one is allowed to visit her except when the 
king and the queen go with them.” 

“ Thank you,” said the merchant’s son, and then he went 

26 


The Flying Trunk 27 

back to the wood and got into his trunk again, and flew on 
to the roof of the palace, from whence he crept in at the 
princess’s window. 

She was lying on a sofa, fast asleep. She was so very 
beautiful that the merchant’s son was driven to kiss her. 
She woke up and was dreadfully frightened, but he said 
that he was the Prophet of the Turks and he had flown down 
through the air to see her, and this pleased her very much. 

They sat side by side and he told her stories about her 
eyes ; he said they were like the most beautiful deep, dark 
lakes, in which her thoughts floated like mermaids ; and 
then he told her about her forehead, that it was like a snow 
mountain, adorned with a series of pictures. And he told 
her all about the storks, which bring beautiful little children 
up out of the rivers. No end of beautiful stories he told 
her, and then he asked her to marry him, and she at once 
said “Yes.” “But you must come here on Saturday,” she 
said, “ when the king and the queen drink tea with me. 
They will be very proud when they hear I am to marry 
a prophet ; but mind you have a splendid story to tell them, 
for my parents are very fond of stories : my mother likes 
them to be grand and very proper, but my father likes them 
to be merry, so that he can laugh at them.” 

“ Well, a story will be my only wedding-gift ! ” he said, 
and then they separated: but the princess gave him a sword 
encrusted with gold. It was the kind of present he needed 
badly. 

He flew away and bought himself a new dressing-gown, 
and sat down in the wood to make up a new story; it had 
to be ready by Saturday, and it is not always so easy to 
make up a story. 

However he had it ready in time, and Saturday came. 

The king, the queen and the whole court were waiting for 
him round the princess’s tea-table. He had a charming 
reception. 

“Now will you tell us a story,” said the Queen, “one 
which is both thoughtful and instructive.” 

“ But one that we can laugh at too,” said the King. 

“ All right ! ” said he, and then he began : we must listen 
to his story attentively. 

“ There was once a bundle of matches, and they were 
frightfully proud because of their high origin. Their family 
tree, that is to say the great pine tree of which they were 


28 The Flying Trunk 

each a little splinter, had been the giant of the forest. The 
matches now lay on a shelf between a tinder box and an old 
iron pot, and they told the whole story of their youth to these 
two. ‘ Ah, when we were a living tree,’ said they, ‘ we were 
indeed a green branch ! Every morning and every evening 
we had diamond-tea, that was the dew-drops. In the day 
we had the sunshine, and all the little birds to tell us stories. 
We could see, too, that we were very rich, for most of the 
other trees were only clad in summer, but our family could 
afford to have green clothes both summer and winter. But 
then the wood cutters came, and there was a great revolution, 
and our family was sundered. The head of the tribe got 
a place as mainmast on a splendid ship, which could sail 
round the world if it chose ; the other branches were 
scattered in different directions, and it is now our task to 
give light to the common herd, that is how such aristocratic 
people as ourselves have got into this kitchen.’ 

“ ‘ Now my lot has been different ! * said the iron pot, 
beside which the matches lay. ‘ Ever since I came into 
the world I have passed the time in being scoured and 
boiled, over and over again ! Everything solid comes to 
me, and in fact I am the most important person in the 
house. My pleasure is when the dinner is over, to lie clean 
and bright on the shelf, and to have a sensible chat with 
my companions ; but with the exception of the water- 
bucket which sometimes goes down into the yard, we lead 
an indoor life. Our only newsmonger is the market-basket, 
and it talks very wildly about the Government and the 
People. Why the other day an old pot was so alarmed by 
the conversation, that it fell down and broke itself to pieces ! 
It was a Liberal you see ! ’ 

“‘You are talking too much,* said the tinderbox, and 
the steel struck sparks on the flint. ‘ Let us have a merry 
evening.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, pray let us settle which is the most aristocratic 
among us,’ said the matches. 

“ ‘ No, I don’t like talking about myself, said the earthen 
pipkin; ‘let us have an evening entertainment! I will 
begin. I will tell you the kind of things we have all ex- 
perienced ; they are quite easy to understand, and that is 
what we all like : By the eastern sea and Danish beeches — ’ 

“ ‘ That’s a nice beginning to make ! ’ said all the plates ; 
* I am sure that will be a story I shall like ! 


The Flying Trunk 29 

“ ‘ Well, I passed my youth there, in a very quiet family ; 
the furniture was bees-waxed, the floors washed, and clean 
curtains were put up once a fortnight ! * 

“ * What a good story-teller you are,’ said the broom ; 
‘ one can tell directly that it’s a woman telling a story, a 
vein of cleanliness runs through it ! ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, one feels that,’ said the water-pail, and for very 
joy it gave a little hop which clashed on the floor. 

“The pipkin went on with its story, and the end was 
much the same as the beginning. 

“ All the plates clattered with joy, and the broom crowned 
the pipkin with a wreath of parsley, because it knew it 
would annoy the others ; and it thought, ‘ If I crown her 
to-day, she will crown me to-morrow. , 

“ ‘ Now I will dance,’ said the tongs, and began to dance ; 
heaven help us, what a way into the air she could get her 
leg. The old chair-cover in the corner burst when she 
saw it ! ‘ Mayn’t I be crowned too,’ said the tongs, so 

they crowned her. 

“ ‘ They’re only a rabble after all,’ said the matches. 

“ The tea-urn was called upon to sing now, but it had a 
cold, it said ; it couldn’t sing except when it was boiling ; 
but that was all because it was stuck-up ; it wouldn't sing 
except when it was on the drawing-room table. 

“ There was an old quill pen, along on the window-sill, 
which the servant used to write with ; there was nothing 
extraordinary about it, except that it had been dipped too 
far into the inkpot, but it was rather proud of that. ‘ If 
the tea-urn won’t sing, it can leave it alone,’ it said. ‘ There 
is a nightingale hanging outside in a cage, it can sing ; it 
certainly hasn’t learnt anything special, but we needn’t mind 
that to-night.’ 

“ ‘ I think it is most unsuitable,’ said the kettle, which 
was the kitchen songster, and half-sister of the urn, ‘that 
a strange bird like that should be listened to ! Is it 
patriotic ? I will let the market-basket judge.’ 

“ ‘ I am very much annoyed,’ said the market-basket. 

‘ I am more annoyed than any one can tell ! Is this a 
suitable way to spend an evening ? Wouldn’t it be better 
to put the house to rights? Then everything would find 
its proper place, and I would manage the whole party. 
Then we should get on differently !’ 

“ « Yes, let us make a row ! ’ they all said together. 


30 The Flying Trunk 

“At that moment the door opened, it was the servant, 
and they all stood still, nobody uttered a sound. But not 
a pot among them which didn’t know its capabilities, or 
how distinguished it was, ‘ If I had chosen, we might have 
had a merry evening, and no mistake,’ they all thought. 

“ The servant took the matches and struck a light ; pre- 
serve us ! how they spluttered and blazed up. 

“ ‘Now everyone can see,’ they thought, ‘that we are the 
first. How brilliantly we shine ! What a light we shed 
around ! ’ — And then they were burnt out.” 

“ That was a splendid story,” said the Queen ; “ I quite 
felt that I was in the kitchen with the matches. Yes indeed 
you shall marry our daughter.” 

“ Certainly ! ” said the King. “ Thou shalt marry her on 
Monday!” They said “du” (thou) to him now, as they 
were to be related. 

So the wedding was decided upon, and the evening 
before the town was illuminated. Buns and cakes were 
scattered broadcast; the street boys stood on tiptoe and 
shouted hurrah, and whistled through their fingers. Every- 
thing was most gorgeous. 

“ I suppose 1 shall have to do something too,” said the 
merchant’s son ; so he bought a lot of rockets, squibs, and 
all sorts of fireworks, put them in his trunk, and flew up 
into the air with them. 

All the Turks jumped at the sight, so that their slippers 
flew up into the air, they had never seen a flight of meteors 
like that before. They saw now without doubt that it was 
the prophet himself, who was about to marry the princess. 

As soon as the merchant’s son got down again into the 
wood with his trunk, he thought, “ I will just go into the 
town to hear what was thought of the display,” and it was 
quite reasonable that he should do so. 

Oh, how every one talked, every single man he spoke to 
had his own opinion about it, but that it had been splendid 
was the universal opinion. 

“ I saw the prophet myself,” said one ; “ his eyes were 
like shining stars, and his beard like foaming water.” 

“ He was wrapped in a mantle of fire,” said another. 
“ The most beautiful angel’s heads peeped out among the 
folds.” He heard nothing but pleasant things, and the 
next day was to be his wedding-day. He went back to 
the wood to get into his trunk — but where was it ? The 


The Flying Trunk 31 

trunk was burnt up. A spark from the fireworks had set 
fire to it and the trunk was burnt to ashes. He could 
not fly any more, or reach his bride. She stood all day on 
the roof waiting for him ; she is waiting for him still, but 
he wanders round the world telling stories, only they are 
no longer so merry as the one he told about the matches. 



The Rose Elf 


In the middle of a garden grew a rose tree ; it was full of 
roses, and in the loveliest of them all lived an elf. He was so 
tiny that no human eye could see him. He had a snug little 
room behind every petal of the rose. He was as well made 
and as perfect as any human child, and he had wings 
reaching from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what a 
delicious scent there was in his room, and how lovely and 
transparent the walls were, for they were palest pink, rose 
petals. All day he revelled in the sunshine, flew from flower 
to flower, and danced on the wings of fluttering butterflies. 
Then he would measure how many steps he would have to 
take to run along all the high roads and paths on a linden 
leaf. These paths were what we call veins, but they were 
endless roads to him. Before he came to the end of them 
the sun went down, for he had begun rather late. 

It became very cold, the dew fell and the wind blew ; it 
was high time for him to get home. He hurried as much 
as ever he could, but the rose had shut itself up, and he 
could not get in, — not a single rose was open. The poor 
little rose elf was dreadfully frightened, he had never been 
out in the night before; he had always slept so safely 
behind his cosy rose leaves. Oh, it would surely be his 
death ! 

At the other end of the garden he knew there was an 
arbour covered with delicious honeysuckle, the flowers 
looked like beautiful painted horns. He would get into 
one of those and sleep till morning. 

He flew along to it. Hush ! There were already two 
people in the arbour, a young handsome man and a lovely 
maiden. They sat side by side and wished they might 
never more be parted, so tenderly did they love each other. 
They loved each other more dearly than the best child can 
even love its father and mother. 

“Still, we must part,” said the young man : “your brother 
32 


The Rose Elf 33 



is not friendly to us, therefore he sends me on such a 
distant errand, far away over mountains and oceans. Good- 
bye, my sweetest bride, for you are that to me, you know ! ” 
Then they kissed 
each other, and the 
young girl wept, and 
gave him a rose 
but before she gave 
it to him she pressed 
a kiss upon it, a kiss 
so tender and im- 
passioned that the 
rose spread its petals. 

Then the little elf 
flew in and leant his 
head against the deli- 
cate fragrant walls, 
but he could hear 
them saying, “ Fare- 
well, farewell,” and 
he felt that the rose 
was placed upon the 
young man’s heart — Ah, 
how it beat ! The little 
elf could not go to sleep 
because of its beating. 

The rose did not re- 
main long undisturbed on 
that beating heart ; the 
young man took it out, as 
he walked alone through 
the dark wood, and kissed 
it passionately many, many 
times; the little elf thought he 
would be crushed to death. He 
could feel the young man’s burn- 
ing lips through the leaves, and the 
rose opened as it might have done 
under the midday sun. ' 

Then another man came up behind, dark and angry ; 
he was the pretty girl’s wicked brother. He took out a 
long sharp knife, and while the other was kissing the rose 
the bad man stabbed him. He cut off his head and 



34 The Rose Hit 

buried it with the body in the soft earth under the linden 
tree. 

“ Now he is dead and done with,” thought the wicked 
brother. “ He will never come back any more. He had a 
long journey to take over mountains and oceans where one’s 
life may easily be lost, and he has lost his. He will never 
come back, and my sister will never dare to ask me about 
him.” 

Then he raked up the dead leaves with his foot, over the 
earth where it had been disturbed, and went home again in 
the darkness of the night. But he was not alone, as he 
thought ; the little elf went with him. He was hidden in a 
withered linden leaf which had fallen from the tree on to the 
bad man’s head while he was digging the grave. It was 
covered by his hat now, and it was so dark inside, where 
the little elf sat trembling with fear and anger at the wicked 
deed. The bad man got home in the early morning ; he 
took off his hat, and went into his sister’s bedroom. There 
lay the pretty, blooming girl dreaming about her beloved, 
whom she thought was so far away, beyond mountains and 
woods. The wicked brother leant over her with an evil 
laugh, such as a fiend might laugh. The withered leaf fell 
out of his hair upon the counterpane ; but he never noticed 
it, and went away to get a little sleep himself. But the elf 
crept out of the dead leaf, and into the ear of the sleeping 
girl, and told her, as in a dream the tale of the terrible 
murder. He described the place where her brother had 
committed the murder, and where he had laid the body ; 
he told her about the flowering linden tree, and said, “So 
that you may not think all I have told you is a mere dream, 
you will find a withered leaf upon your bed.” 

This she found, as he had said, when she woke. Oh ! 
what bitter, bitter tears she shed. To no one did she dare 
betray her grief. Her window stood open all day, and the little 
elf could easily have got into the garden to the roses and all 
the other flowers, but he could not bear to leave the sorrow- 
ing girl. A monthly rose-bush stood in the window, and he 
took up his place in one of the flowers, whence he could 
watch the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room, 
he was merry with an evil mirth, but she dared not say a 
word about the grief at her heart. 

When night came she stole out of the house, and into the 
wood, to the place where the linden tree stood. She tore 


The Rose Elf 35 

away the leaves from the ground and dug down into the 
earth, and at once found him who had been murdered. Oh 
how she wept and prayed to God, that she too might soon 
die. Gladly would she have taken the body home with her 
could she have done so. But she took the pale head with 
the closed eyes, kissed the cold lips and shook the earth 
out of his beautiful hair. 

“This shall be mine !” she said, when she had covered 
up the body with earth and leaves. Then she took the 
head home with her and a little spray of the jasmine tree 
which flowered in the wood where he was killed. 

As soon as she reached her room she fetched the biggest 
flower pot she could find, and laid the head of the dead 
man in it, covered it with earth, and planted the sprig of 
jasmine in the pot. 

“ Farewell, farewell ! ” whispered the little elf. He could 
no longer bear to look at such grief, so he flew away into 
the garden to his rose, but it was withered, and only a few 
faded leaves hung round the green calyx. “ Alas ! how 
quickly the good and the beautiful pass away ! ” sighed the 
elf. At last he found another rose, and made it his home. 
He could dwell in safety behind its fragrant petals. 

Every morning he flew to the poor girl’s window, and she 
was always there, weeping by the flower pot. Her salt tears 
fell upon the jasmine, and for every day that she grew paler 
and paler the sprig gained in strength and vigour. One 
shoot appeared after another, and then little white flower 
buds showed themselves, and she kissed them ; but her 
wicked brother scolded her, and asked if she was crazy. 
He did not like to see, and could not imagine why, she was 
always hanging weeping over the flower pot. He did not 
know what eyes lay hidden there, closed for ever, nor what 
red lips had returned to dust within its depths. She leant 
her head against the flower pot, and the little elf found her 
there, fallen into a gentle slumber. He crept into her ear, 
and whispered to her of that evening in the arbour, about 
the scented roses, and the love of the elves. She dreamt 
these sweet dreams, and while she dreamt her life passed 
away. She was dead — she had died a peaceful death, and 
had passed to heaven to her beloved ! The jasmine opened 
its big white blossoms, and they gave out their sweetest 
scent. They had no other way of weeping over the dead. 

The wicked brother saw the beautiful flowering plant, 


36 The Rose Elf 

and he took it for himself as an inheritance. He put it 
into his own bedroom, close by his bedside, because it was 
so beautiful to look at, and smelt so sweet and fresh. The 
little rose elf accompanied it and flew from blossom to 
blossom ; in each lived a little elf, and to each one he told 
the story of the murdered man, whose head now rested 
under the earth. He told them abcKti £he wicked brother 
and his poor sister. 

“ We know it,” said each little creature. “ We know it ; did 
we not spring from those murdered eyes and lips ? We know 
it, we know it !” and then they nodded their heads so oddly. 

The rose elf could not understand how they could be so 
quiet about it, and he flew to the bees who were gathering 
honey. He told them the story about the wicked brother, 
and the bees told it to their queen, who commanded them 
all to kill the murderer next morning. 

But in the night, the first night after his sister’s death, 
when the brother was asleep in his bed, close to the fragrant 
jasmine tree, every blossom opened wide its petals, and out 
of every flower stepped invisibly, but armed each with a 
tiny poisoned spear, the little spirits from the flower. First 
they took their places by his ear, and told him evil dreams ; 
then they flew over his mouth and pierced his tongue with 
their poisoned darts. 

“ Now we have revenged the dead ! ” said they, and crept 
back again into the white bells of the jasmine. 

When morning came, the window all at once flew open, 
and in flew the rose elf and all the swarm of bees with their 
queen to kill him. 

But he was already dead; people stood round the bed 
and said, “The scent of the jasmine has killed him ! ” 

Then the rose elf understood the vengeance of the flowers, 
and told it to the queen bee, and she with all her swarm 
buzzed round the flower pot ; the bees would not be driven 
away. Then a man took up the flower pot, and one of the 
bees stung his hand, and he let the flower pot fall, and it 
was broken to bits. 

Then they saw the whitened skull, and they knew that the 
dead man lying on the bed was a murderer. The queen 
bee hummed in the air, and sang about the vengeance of 
the flowers to the rose elf, and that behind each smallest 
leaf, lurks a being who can discover and revenge every 
evil deed. 


The Wild Swans 


Far away, where the swallows take refuge in winter, lived a 
king who had eleven sons and one daughter, Elise. The 
eleven brothers — they were all princes — used to go to school 
with stars on their breasts and swords at their sides. They 
wrote upon golden slates with diamond pencils, and could 
read just as well without a book as with one, so there was 
no mistake about their being real princes. Their sister Elise 
sat upon a little footstool of looking-glass, and she had a 
picture-book which had cost the half of a kingdom. Oh, 
these children were very happy ; but it was not to last thus 
for ever. 

Their father, who was king over all the land, married a 
wicked queen who was not at all kind to the poor children ; 
they found that out on the first day. All was festive at the 
castle, but when the children wanted to play at having 
company, instead of having as many cakes and baked apples 
as ever they wanted, she would only let them have some 
sand in a tea-cup, and said they must make-believe. 

In the following week she sent little Elise into the country 
to board with some peasants, and it did not take her long 
to make the king believe so many bad things about the 
boys, that he cared no more about them. 

“ Fly out into the world and look after yourselves,” said 
the wicked queen; “you shall fly about like birds without 
voices.” 

But she could not make things as bad for them as she 
would have liked; they turned into eleven beautiful wild 
swans. They flew out of the palace window with a weird 
scream, right across the park and the woods. 

It was very early in the morning when they came to the 
place where their sister Elise was sleeping in the peasant’s 
house. They hovered over the roof of the house, turning 
and twisting their long necks, and flapping their wings; but 
no one either heard or saw them. They had to fly away 


37 


38 The Wild Swans 

again, and they soared up towards the clouds, far out into 
the wide world, and they settled in a big, dark wood, which 
stretched down to the shore. 

Poor little Elise stood in the peasant’s room, playing with 
a green leaf, for she had no other toys. She made a little 
hole in it, which she looked through at the sun, and it 
seemed to her as if she saw her brother’s bright eyes. Every 
time the warm sunbeams shone upon her cheek, it reminded 
her of their kisses. One day passed just like another. 
When the wind whistled through the rose-hedges outside 
the house, it whispered to the roses, “ Who can be prettier 
than you are?” But the roses shook their heads and 
answered, “ Elise ! ” And when the old woman sat in the 
doorway reading her Psalms, the wind turned over the 
leaves and said to the book, “ Who can be more pious than 
you?” “Elise!” answered the book. Both the roses and 
the book of Psalms only spoke the truth. 

She was to go home when she was fifteen, but when the 
queen saw how pretty she was, she got very angry, and her 
heart was filled with hatred. She would willingly have 
turned her into a wild swan too, like her brothers, but she 
did not dare to do it at once, for the king wanted to see his 
daughter. The queen always went to the bath in the early 
morning. It was built .of marble and adorned with soft 
cushions and beautiful carpets. 

She took three toads, kissed them, and said to the first, 
“ Sit upon Elise’s head when she comes to the bath, so that 
she may become sluggish like yourself.” “Sit upon her 
forehead,” she said to the second, “ that she may become 
ugly like you, and then her father won’t know her ! Rest 
upon her heart,” she whispered to the third. “ Let an evil 
spirit come over her, which may be a burden to her.” Then 
she put the toads into the clean water, and a green tinge 
immediately came over it. She called Elise, undressed her, 
and made her go into the bath; when she ducked under the 
water, one of the toads got among her hair, the other got on 
to her forehead, and the third on to her bosom. But when 
she stood up three scarlet poppies floated on the water; had 
not the creatures been poisonous, and kissed by the sorceress, 
they would have been changed into crimson roses, but yet 
they became flowers from merely having rested a moment 
on her head and her heart. She was far too good and 
innocent for the sorcery to have any power over her. When 


The Wild Swans 39 

the wicked Queen saw this, she rubbed her over with walnut 
juice, and smeared her face with some evil-smelling salve. 
She also matted up her beautiful hair ; it would have been 
impossible to recognise pretty Elise. When her father saw 
her, he was quite horrified and said that she could not be 
his daughter. Nobody would have anything to say to her, 
except the yard dog, and the swallows, and they were only 
poor dumb animals whose opinion went for nothing. 

Poor Elise wept, and thought of her eleven brothers who 
were all lost. She crept sadly out of the palace and 
wandered about all day, over meadows and marshes, and 
into a big forest. She did not know in the least where she 
wanted to go, but she felt very sad, and longed for her 
brothers, who, no doubt, like herself had been driven out of 
the palace. She made up her mind to go and look for 
them, but she had only been in the wood for a short time 
when night fell. She had quite lost her way, so she lay 
down upon the soft moss, said her evening prayer, and 
rested her head on a little hillock. It was very still and the 
air was mild, hundreds of glow-worms shone around her on 
the grass and in the marsh like green fire. When she gently 
moved one of the branches over her head, the little shining 
insects fell over her like a shower of stars. She dreamt 
about her brothers all night long. Again they were children 
playing together : they wrote upon the golden slates with 
their diamond pencils, and she looked at the picture-book 
which had cost half a kingdom. But they no longer wrote 
strokes and noughts upon their slates as they used to do ; 
no, they wrote down all their boldest exploits, and every- 
thing that they had seen and experienced. Everything in 
the picture book was alive, the birds sang, and the people 
walked out of the book, and spoke to Elise and her brothers. 
When she turned over a page, they skipped back into their 
places again, so that there should be no confusion among 
the pictures. 

When she woke the sun was already high ; it is true she 
could not see it very well through the thick branches of the 
lofty forest trees, but the sunbeams cast a golden shimmer 
around beyond the forest. There was a fresh delicious 
scent of grass and herbs in the air, and the birds were 
almost ready to perch upon her shoulders. She could hear 
the splashing of water, for there were many springs around, 
which all flowed into a pond with a lovely sandy bottom. 

D 


40 The Wild Swans 

It was surrounded with thick bushes, but there was one 
place which the stags had trampled down and Elise passed 
through the opening to the water side. It was so trans- 
parent, that had not the branches been moved by the 
breeze, she must have thought that they were painted on 
the bottom, so plainly was every leaf reflected, both those 
on which the sun played, and those which were in shade. 

When she saw her own face she was quite frightened, it 
was so brown and ugly, but when she wet her little hand 
and rubbed her eyes and forehead, her white skin shone 
through again. Then she took off all her clothes and went 
into the fresh water. A more beautiful royal child than she, 
could not be found in all the world. 

When she had put on her clothes again, and plaited her 
long hair, she went to a sparkling spring and drank some 
of the water out of the hollow of her hand. Then she 
wandered further into the wood, though where she was 
going she had not the least idea. She thought of her 
brothers, and she thought of a merciful God who would 
not forsake her. He let the wild crab-apples grow to feed the 
hungry. He shewed her a tree, the branches of which were 
bending beneath their weight of fruit. Here she made her 
midday meal, and, having put props under the branches, 
she walked on into the thickest part of the forest. It was 
so quiet that she heard her own footsteps, she heard every 
little withered leaf which bent under her feet. Not a bird 
was to be seen, not a ray of sunlight pierced the leafy 
branches, and the tall trunks were so close together that 
when she looked before her it seemed as if a thick fence of 
heavy beams hemmed her in on every side. The solitude 
was such as she had never known before. 

It was a very dark night, not a single glow-worm sparkled 
in the marsh ; sadly she lay down to sleep, and it seemed 
to her as if the branches above her parted asunder, and the 
Saviour looked down upon her with His loving eyes, and 
little angel’s heads peeped out above His head and under 
His arms. 

When she woke in the morning she was not sure if she 
had dreamt this, or whether it was really true. 

She walked a little further, when she met an old woman 
with a basket full of berries, of which she gave her some. 
Elise asked if she had seen eleven princes ride through 
the wood. “No,” said the old woman, “but yesterday I 


The Wild Swans 41 

saw eleven swans, with golden crowns upon their heads, 
swimming in the stream close by here.” 

She led Elise a little further to a slope, at the foot of 
which the stream meandered. The trees on either bank 
stretched out their rich leafy branches towards each other, 
and where, from their natural growth, they could not reach 
each other, they had torn their roots out of the ground, and 
leant over the water so as to interlace their branches. 

Elise said good-bye to the old woman, and walked along 
by the river till it flowed out into the great open sea. 

The beautiful open sea lay before the maiden, but not a 
sail was to be seen on it, not a single boat. How was she 
ever to get any further ? She looked at the numberless 
little pebbles on the beach ; they were all worn quite round 
by the water. Glass, iron, stone, whatever was washed up, 
had taken their shapes from the water, which yet was much 
softer than her little hand. “ With all its rolling, it is 
untiring, and everything hard is smoothed down. I will be 
just as untiring ! Thank you for your lesson, you clear 
rolling waves ! Some time, so my heart tells me, you will 
bear me to my beloved brothers ! ” 

Eleven white swans’ feathers were lying on the sea- weed ; 
she picked them up and made a bunch of them. There 
were still drops of water on them. Whether these w r ere 
dew or tears no one could tell. It w r as very lonely there by 
the shore, but she did not feel it, for the sea was ever- 
changing. There were more changes on it in the course of 
a few hours than could be seen on an inland fresh-water 
lake in a year. If a big black cloud arose, it was just as if 
the sea wanted to say, “I can look black too,” and then the 
wind blew up and the waves shewed their white crests. 
But if the clouds were red and the wind dropped, the sea 
looked like a rose-leaf, now white, now green. But, how- 
ever still it was, there was always a little gentle motion just 
by the shore, the water rose and fell softly like the bosom of 
a sleeping child. 

When the sun was just about to go down, Elise saw 
eleven wild swans with golden crowns upon their heads 
flying towards the shore. They flew in a swaying line, 
one behind the other, like a white ribbon streamer. Elise 
climbed up on to the bank and hid behind a bush; the 
swans settled close by her and flapped their great white wings. 

As soon as the sun had sunk beneath the water the swans 


42 The Wild Swans 

shed their feathers and became eleven handsome princes ; 
they were Elise’s brothers. Although they had altered a 
good deal, she knew them at once ; she felt that they must 
be her brothers and she sprang into their arms, calling them 
by name. They were delighted when they recognized their 
little sister who had grown so big and beautiful. They 
laughed and cried, and told each other how wickedly their 
stepmother had treated them all. 

“ We brothers,” said the eldest, “ have to fly about in the 
guise of swans, as long as the sun is above the horizon. 
When it goes down we regain our human shapes. So we 
always have to look out for a resting place near sunset, for 
should we happen to be flying up among the clouds when 
the sun goes down, we should be hurled to the depths 
below. We do not live here ; there is another land, just 
as beautiful as this, beyond the sea ; but the way to it is 
very long and we have to cross the mighty ocean to get to it. 
There is not a single island on the way where we can spend 
the night, only one solitary little rock juts up above the 
water midway. It is only just big enough for us to stand 
upon close together, and if there is a heavy sea the water 
splashes over us, yet we thank our God for it. We stay 
there over night in our human forms, and without it we 
could never revisit our beloved Fatherland, for our flight 
takes two of the longest days in the year. We are only 
permitted to visit the home of our fathers once a year, and 
we dare only stay for eleven days. We hover over this, big 
forest from whence we catch a glimpse of the palace where 
we were born, and where our father lives ; beyond it we 
can see the high church towers where our mother is buried. 
We fancy that the trees and bushes here are related to us ; 
and the wild horses gallop over the moors, as we used to see 
them in our childhood. The charcoal burners still sing the 
old songs we used to dance to when we were children. 
This is our Fatherland, we are drawn towards it, and here 
we have found you again, dear little sister ! We may stay 
here two days longer, and then we must fly away again across 
the ocean, to a lovely country indeed, but it is not our own 
dear Fatherland ! How shall we ever take you with us, we 
have neither ship nor boat !” 

“ How can I deliver you ! ” said their sister, and they 
went on talking to each other, nearly all night, they only 
dozed for a few hours. 


The Wild Swans 43 

Elise was awakened in the morning by the rustling of the 
swan’s wings above her ; her brothers were again trans- 
formed and were wheeling round in great circles, till she 
lost sight of them in the distance. One of them, the 
youngest, stayed behind. He laid his head against her 
bosom, and she caressed it with her fingers. They remained 
together all day; towards evening the others came back, 
and as soon as the sun went down they took their natural 
forms. 

“To-morrow we must fly away, and we dare not come 
back for a whole year, but we can’t leave you like this ! 
Have you courage to go with us ? My arm is strong enough 
to carry you over the forest, so surely our united strength 
ought to be sufficient to bear you across the ocean.” 

“Oh yes ! take me with you,” said Elise. 

They spent the whole night in weaving a kind of net of 
the elastic bark of the willow bound together with tough 
rushes ; they made it both large and strong. Elise lay down 
upon it, and when the sun rose and the brothers became 
swans again, they took up the net in their bills and flew 
high up among the clouds with their precious sister, who 
was fast asleep. The sunbeams fell straight on to her face, 
so one of the swans flew over her head so that its broad 
wings should shade her. 

They were far from land when Elise woke ; she thought 
she must still be dreaming, it seemed so strange to be 
carried through the air so high up above the sea. By her 
side lay a branch of beautiful ripe berries, and a bundle of 
savoury roots, which her youngest brother had collected for 
her, and for which she gave him a grateful smile. She 
knew it was he who flew above her head shading her from 
the sun. They were so high up that the first ship they saw 
looked like a gull floating on the water. A great cloud 
came up behind them like a mountain, and Elise saw the 
shadow of herself on it, and those of the eleven swans 
looking like giants. It was a more beautiful picture than 
any she had ever seen before, but as the sun rose higher, 
the cloud fell behind, and the shadow picture disappeared. 

They flew on and on all day like an arrow whizzing 
through the air, but they went slower than usual, for now 
they had their sister to carry. A storm came up, and night 
was drawing on ; Elise saw the sun sinking with terror in 
her heart, for the solitary rock was nowhere to be seen. The 


44 The Wild Swans 

swans seemed to be taking stronger strokes than ever ; alas ! 
she was the cause of their not being able to get on faster ; as 
soon as the sun went down they would become men, and 
they would all be hurled into the sea and drowned. She 
prayed to God from the bottom of her heart, but still no 
rock was to be seen ! Black clouds gathered, and strong 
gusts of wind announced a storm ; the clouds looked like a 
great threatening leaden wave, and the flashes of lightning 
followed each other rapidly. 

The sun was now at the edge of the sea. Elise’s heart 
quaked, when suddenly the swans shot downwards so 
suddenly, that she thought they were falling, then they 
hovered again. Half of the sun was below the horizon, and 
there for the first time she saw the little rock below, which 
did not look bigger than the head of a seal above the water. 
The sun sank very quickly, it was no bigger than a star, but 
her foot touched solid earth. The sun went out like the 
last sparks of a bit of burning paper ; she saw her brothers 
stand arm in arm around her, but there was only just room 
enough for them. The waves beat upon the rock and 
washed over them like drenching rain. The heavens shone 
with continuous fire, and the thunder rolled, peal upon peal. 
But the sister and brothers held each other’s hands and 
sang a psalm which gave them comfort and courage. 

The air was pure and still at dawn. As soon as the sun 
rose the swans flew off with Elise, away from the islet. The 
sea still ran high, it looked from where they were as if the 
white foam on the dark green water were millions of swans 
floating on the waves. 

When the sun rose higher, Elise saw before her half 
floating in the air great masses of ice, with shining glaciers 
on the heights. A palace was perched midway a mile in 
length, with one bold colonnade built above another. 
Beneath them swayed palm trees and gorgeous blossoms as 
big as mill wheels. She asked if this was the land to which 
she was going, but the swans shook their heads, because 
what she saw was a mirage ; the beautiful and ever changing 
palace of Fata Morgana. No mortal dared enter it. Elise 
gazed at it, but as she gazed the palace, gardens and 
mountains melted away, and in their place stood twenty 
proud churches with their high towers and pointed windows. 
She seemed to hear the notes of the organ, but it was the 
sea she heard. When she got close to the seeming churches, 


The Wild Swans 45 

they changed to a great navy sailing beneath her ; but it 
was only a sea mist floating over the waters. Yes, she saw 
constant changes passing before her eyes, and now she saw 
the real land she was bound to. Beautiful blue mountains 
rose before her with their cedar woods and palaces. Long 
before the sun went down, she sat among the hills in front 
of a big cave covered with delicate green creepers. It 
looked like a piece of embroidery. 

“Now we shall see what you will dream here to-night,” 
said the youngest brother, as he shewed her where she was 
to sleep. 

“If only I might dream how I could deliver you,” she 
said, and this thought filled her mind entirely. She prayed 
earnestly to God for His help, and even in her sleep she 
continued her prayer. It seemed to her that she was flying 
up to Fata Morgana in her castle in the air. The fairy 
came towards her, she was charming and brilliant, and yet 
she was very like the old woman who gave her the berries 
in the wood, and told her about the swans with the golden 
crowns. 

“Your brothers can be delivered,” she said, “but have 
you courage and endurance enough for it ? The sea is 
indeed softer than your hands, and it moulds the hardest 
stones, but it does not feel the pain your fingers will feel. 
It has no heart, and does not suffer the pain and anguish 
you must feel. Do you see this stinging nettle I hold in 
my hand ? Many of this kind grow round the cave where you 
sleep ; only these and the ones which grow in the church- 
yards may be used. Mark that ! Those you may pluck 
although they will burn and blister your hands. Crush the 
nettles with your feet and you will have flax, and of this you 
must weave eleven coats of mail with long sleeves. Throw 
these over the eleven wild swans and the charm is broken ! 
But remember that from the moment you begin this work, 
till it is finished, even if it takes years, you must not utter a 
word ! The first word you say will fall like a murderer’s 
dagger into the hearts of your brothers. Their lives hang 
on your tongue. Mark this w’ell ! ” 

She touched her hand at the same moment, it was like 
burning fire, and woke Elise. It was bright day-light, and 
close to where she slept lay a nettle like those in her dream. 
She fell upon her knees with thanks to God and left the 
cave to begin her work. 


46 The Wild Swans 

She seized the horrid nettles with her delicate hands, and 
they burnt like fire; great blisters rose on her hands and 
arms, but she suffered it willingly if only it would deliver 
her beloved brothers. She crushed every nettle with her 
bare feet, and twisted it into green flax. 

When the sun went down and the brothers came back, 
they were alarmed at finding her mute ; they thought it was 
some new witchcraft exercised by their wicked step-mother. 
But when they saw her hands, they understood that it was 
for their sakes; the youngest brother wept, and wherever 
his tears fell, she felt no more pain, and the blisters dis- 
appeared. 

She spent the whole night at her work, for she could not 
rest till she had delivered her dear brothers. All the follow- 
ing day while her brothers were away she sat solitary, but 
never had the time flown so fast. One coat of mail was 
finished and she began the next. Then a hunting-horn 
sounded among the mountains ; she was much frightened, 
the sound came nearer, and she heard dogs barking. In 
terror she rushed into the cave and tied the nettles she had 
collected and woven, into a bundle upon which she sat. 

At this moment a big dog bounded forward from the 
thicket, and another and another, they barked loudly and 
ran backwards and forwards. In a few minutes all the 
huntsmen were standing outside the cave, and the handsomest 
of them was the king of the country. He stepped up to 
Elise : never had he seen so lovely a girl. 

“ How came you here, beautiful child ? ” he said. 

Elise shook her head ; she dared not speak ; the salvation 
and the lives of her brothers depended upon her silence, 
She hid her hands under her apron, so that the king should 
not see what she suffered. 

“ Come with me ! ” he said ; “ you cannot stay here. If 
you are as good as you are beautiful, I will dress you in silks 
and velvets, put a golden crown upon your head, and you 
shall live with me and have your home in my richest palace ! ” 
Then he lifted her upon his horse, she wept and wrung her 
hands, but the king said, “I only think of your happiness; 
you will thank me one day for what I am doing ! ” Then 
he darted off across the mountains, holding her before him 
on his horse, and the huntsmen followed. 

When the sun went down, the royal city with churches 
and cupolas lay before them, and the king led her into the 


The Wild Swans 47 

palace, where great fountains played in the marble halls, 
and where walls and ceilings were adorned with paintings, 
but she had no eyes for them, she only wept and sorrowed ; 
passively she allowed the women to dress her in royal robes, 
to twist pearls into her hair, and to draw gloves on to her 
blistered hands. 

She was dazzlingly lovely as she stood there in all her 
magnificence ; the courtiers bent low before her, and the 
king wooed her as his bride, although the archbishop shook 
his head, and whispered that he feared the beautiful wood 
maiden was a witch, who had dazzled their eyes and infatuated 
the king. 

The king refused to listen to him, he ordered the music 
to play, the richest food to be brought, and the lovliest girls 
to dance before her. She was led through scented gardens 
into gorgeous apartments, but nothing brought a smile to 
her lips, or into her eyes, sorrow sat there like a heritage 
and a possession for all time. Last of all, the king opened 
the door of a little chamber close by the room where she 
was to sleep. It was adorned with costly green carpets, 
and made to exactly resemble the cave where he found her. 
On the floor lay the bundle of flax she had spun from the 
nettles, and from the ceiling hung the shirt of mail which 
was already finished. One of the huntsmen had brought 
all these things away as curiosities. 

“ Here you may dream that you are back in your former 
home !” said the king. “ Here is the work upon which you 
were engaged; in the midst of your splendour, it may 
amuse you to think of those times. ,, 

When Elise saw all these things so dear to her heart, 
a smile for the first time played upon her lips, and the 
blood rushed back to her cheeks. She thought of the 
deliverance of her brothers, and she kissed the king’s hand ; 
he pressed her to his heart, and ordered all the church 
bells to ring marriage peals. The lovely dumb girl from the 
woods was to be queen of the country. 

The archbishop whispered evil words into the ear of the 
king, but they did not reach his heart. The wedding was 
to take place, and the archbishop himself had to put the 
crown upon her head. In his anger he pressed the golden 
circlet so tightly upon her head as to give her pain. But 
a heavier circlet pressed upon her heart, her grief for her 
brothers, so she thought nothing of the bodily pain. Her 


48 The Wild Swans 

Ups were sealed, a single word from her mouth would cost 
her brothers their lives, but her eyes were full of love for 
the good and handsome king, who did everything he could 
to please her. Every day she grew more and more attached 
to him, and longed to confide in him, tell him her suffer- 
ings ; but dumb she must remain, and in silence must bring 
her labour to completion. Therefore at night she stole 
away from his side into her secret chamber, which was 
decorated like a cave, and here she knitted one shirt after 
another. When she came to the seventh, all her flax was 
worked up ; she knew that these nettles which she was to 
use grew in the churchyard, but she had to pluck them 
herself. How was she to get there? “Oh, what is the 
pain of my fingers compared with the anguish of my heart,” 
she thought. “ I must venture out, the good God will 
not desert me ! ” With as much terror in her heart, as if 
she were doing some evil deed, she stole down one night 
into the moonlit garden, and through the long alleys out into 
the silent streets to the churchyard. There she saw, sitting 
on a gravestone, a group of hideous ghouls, who took off their 
tattered garments, as if they were about to bathe, and then 
they dug down into the freshly-made graves with their skinny 
fingers, and tore the flesh from the bodies and devoured it. 
Elise had to pass close by them, and they fixed their evil 
eyes upon her, but she said a prayer as she passed, picked 
the stinging nettles and hurried back to the palace with them. 

Only one person saw her, but that was the archbishop, 
who watched while others slept. Surely now all his bad 
opinions of the queen were justified ; all was not as it 
should be with her, she must be a witch, and therefore she 
had bewitched the king and all the people. 

He told the king in the confessional what he had seen 
and what he feared. When those bad words passed his 
lips, the pictures of the saints shook their heads as if to 
say : it is not so, Elise is innocent. The archbishop 
however took it differently, and thought that they were 
bearing witness against her, and shaking their heads at her 
sin. Two big tears rolled down the king’s cheeks, and he 
went home with doubt in his heart. He pretended to sleep 
at night, but no quiet sleep came to his eyes. He per- 
ceived how Elise got up and went to her private closet. 
Day by day his face grew darker, Elise saw it but could 
not imagine what was the cause of it. It alarmed her, 


The Wild Swans 49 

and what was she not already suffering in her heart because 
of her brothers? Her salt tears ran down upon the royal 
purple velvet, they lay upon it like sparkling diamonds, and 
all who saw their splendour wished to be queen. 

She had, however, almost reached the end of her labours, 
only one shirt of mail was wanting, but again she had no 
more flax and not a single nettle was left. Once more, for 
the last time, she must go to the churchyard to pluck a few 
handfuls. She thought with dread of the solitary walk and 
the horrible ghouls; but her will was as strong as her trust 
in God. 

Elise went, but the king and the archbishop followed her, 
they saw her disappear within the grated gateway of the 
churchyard. When they followed they saw the ghouls 
sitting on the gravestone as Elise had seen them before; 
and the king turned away his head because he thought she 
was among them, she, w'hose head this very evening had 
rested on his breast. 

“The people must judge her,” he groaned, and the people 
judged. “ Let her be consumed in the glowing flames ! ” 

She was led away from her beautiful royal apartments to 
a dark damp dungeon, where the wind whistled through the 
grated window. Instead of velvet and silk they gave her 
the bundle of nettles she had gathered to lay her head 
upon. The hard burning shirts of mail were to be her 
covering, but they could have given her nothing more precious. 

She set to work again with many prayers to God. Out- 
side her prison the street boys sang derisive songs about 
her, and not a soul comforted her with a kind word. 

Towards evening she heard the rustle of swans’ wings 
close to her window ; it was her youngest brother, at last he 
had found her. He sobbed aloud with joy although he 
knew that the coming night might be her last, but then 
her work was almost done and her brothers were there. 

The archbishop came to spend her last hours with her as 
he had promised the king. She shook her head at him, 
and by looks and gestures begged him to leave her. She 
had only this night in which to finish her work, or else all 
would be wasted, all — her pain, tears and sleepless nights. 
The archbishop went away with bitter words against her, 
but poor Elise knew that she was innocent, and she went 
on with her work. 

The little mice ran about the floor bringing nettles to her 


50 The Wild Swans 

feet, so as to give what help they could, and a thrush sat on 
the grating of the window where he sang all night, as merrily 
as he could to keep up her courage. 

It was still only dawn, and the sun would not rise for an 
hour when the eleven brothers stood at the gate of the palace, 
begging to be taken to the king. This could not be done, 
was the answer, for it was still night ; the king was asleep 
and no one dared wake him. All their entreaties and threats 
were useless, the watch turned out and even the king him- 
self came to see what was the matter ; but just then the sun 
rose, and no more brothers were to be seen, only eleven 
wild swans hovering over the palace. 

The whole populace streamed out of the town gates, they 
were all anxious to see the witch burnt. A miserable horse 
drew the cart in which Elise was seated. They had put 
upon her a smock of green sacking, and all her beautiful 
long hair hung loose from the lovely head. Her cheeks 
were deathly pale, and her lips moved softly, while her fingers 
unceasingly twisted the green yarn. Even on the way to 
her death she could not abandon her unfinished work. Ten 
shirts lay completed at her feet — she laboured away at the 
eleventh, amid the scoffing insults of the populace. 

“ Look at the witch how she mutters. She has never a 
book of psalms in her hands, no, there she sits with her 
loathsome sorcery. Tear it away from her, into a thousand 
bits ! ” 

The crowd pressed around her to destroy her work, but 
just then eleven white swans flew down and perched upon 
the cart flapping their wings. The crowd gave way before 
them in terror. 

“It is a sign from Heaven! She is innocent!” they 
whispered, but they dared not say it aloud. 

The executioner seized her by the hand, but she hastily 
threw the eleven shirts over the swans, who were im- 
mediately transformed to eleven handsome princes ; but the 
youngest had a swan’s wing in place of an arm, for one 
sleeve was wanting to his shirt of mail, she had not been 
able to finish it. 

“ Now I may speak ! I am innocent.” 

The populace who saw what had happened bowed down 
before her as if she had been a saint, but she sank lifeless in 
her brother’s arms ; so great had been the strain, the terror 
and the suffering she had endured. 


The Wild Swans 51 

“ Yes, innocent she is indeed,” said the eldest brother,, 
and he told them all that had happened. 

Whilst he spoke a wonderful fragrance spread around, as 
of millions of roses. Every faggot in the pile had taken 
root and shot out branches, and a great high hedge of red: 
roses had arisen. At the very top was one pure white 
blossom, it shone like a star, and the king broke it off and 
laid it on Elise’s bosom, and she woke with joy and peace 
in her heart. 

All the church bells began to ring of their own accord, 
and the singing birds flocked around them. Surely such a 
bridal procession went back to the palace as no king had 
ever seen before 1 




The Trold chieftain from the Dovrefield 
wore a crown of hardened icicles and fir 


cones 


The Elf- Hill 


Some lizards were nimbly running in and out of the clefts 
in an old tree. They understood each other very well, for 
they all spoke lizard language. 

“ What a rumbling and grumbling is going on inside the 
old Elf-hill,” said one of the lizards. “ I have not closed 
my eyes for the last two nights for the noise. I might just 
as well be having toothache, for all the sleep I get ! ” 

“ There is something up inside,” said the other lizard. 
“ They propped up the top of the hill on four red posts till 
cockcrow this morning, to air it out thoroughly ; and the 
elf maidens had been learning some new dancing steps, 
which they are always practising. There certainly must be 
something going on.” 

“Yes, I was talking to an earthworm of my acquaintance 
about it,” said the third lizard. “ He came straight up out 
of the hill, where he had been boring into the earth for days 
and nights. He had heard a good deal, for the miserable 
creature can’t see, but it can feel its way, and plays the part 
of eavesdropper to perfection. They are expecting visitors 
in the Elf-hill, grand visitors ; but who they are the earth- 
worm refused to say or perhaps he did not know. All the 
will-o’-the-wisps are ordered for a procession of torches, as it 
is called ; and the silver and gold plate, of which there is 
any amount in the hill, is all being polished up and put out 
in the moonlight.” 

“ Whoever can the strangers be ? ” said all the lizards to- 
gether. 

“ What on earth is happening ? Hark ! what a humming 
and buzzing ? ” 

At this moment the Elf-hill opened, and an elderly elf- 
maiden tripped out. She was hollow behind , 1 but otherwise 
quite attractively dressed. She was the old elf-king’s house- 

1 According to a superstition these elf-maidens are hollow, like the 
inside of a mask. 


S3 


keeper, and a distant relative. She wore an amber heart 
upon her forehead. She moved her legs at a great pace, 
“ trip, trip.’’ Good heavens ! how fast she tripped over the 
ground; she went right down to the night-jar in the swamp. 

“You are invited to the Elf-hill for to-night,” said she to 
him. “ But will you be so kind as to charge yourself with 
the other invitations. You must make yourself useful in 
other ways, as you don’t keep house yourself. We are going 
to have some very distinguished visitors, goblins, who always 
have something to say, and so the old elf-king means to 
show what he can do.” 

“ Who is to be invited ? ” asked the night-jar. 

“ Well, everybody may come to the big ball, even human 
beings, if they can only talk in their sleep, or do something 
else after our fashion. But the choice is to be strictly 
limited for the grand feast. We will only have the most 
distinguished people. I have had a battle with the elf-king 
about it; because I hold that we musn’t even include ghosts. 
The merman and his daughters must be invited first. I 
don’t suppose they care much about coming on dry land, 
but I shall see that they each have a wet stone to sit on, or 
something better ; so I expect they won’t decline this time. 
All the old demons of the first-class, with tails, the River- 
god, and the wood-sprites. And then I don’t think we can 
pass over the Grave-pig , 1 the Hell-horse, and the Church- 
grim, although they belong to the clergy, who are not of our 
people; but that is merely on account of their office, and 
they are closely connected with us, and visit us very 
frequently.” 

“ Croak,” said the night-jar, and he flew off to issue the 
invitations. 

The elf-maidens had already begun to dance, and they 
danced a scarf dance, with scarves woven of mist and moon- 
shine ; these have a lovely effect to those who care for that 
kind of thing. The great hall in the middle of the Elf-hill 
had been thoroughly polished up for the occasion. The 
floor was washed with moonshine, and the walls were rubbed 
over with witches’ fat, and this made them shine with many 
colours, like a tulip petal. The kitchen was full of frogs on 
spits, stuffed snake skins, and salads of toad stool spawn, 
mouse snouts and hemlock. Then there was beer brewed 

1 According to Danish superstition, a living horse or pig has beer 
buried under every church ; their ghosts are said to walk at night. 


The Elf-Hill 55 

by the marsh witch, and sparkling salt-petre wine from the 
vaults. Everything of the best, and rusty nails and church 
window panes among the kickshaws. 

The old elf-king had his golden crown polished with 
pounded slate-pencil, ay, and it was a head-boy’s slate-pencil 
too, and they are not so easy to get. They hung up fresh 
curtains in the bedroom, and fixed them with the slime of 
snails. Yes, indeed, there was a humming and a buzzing. 

“Now we will fumigate with horse-hair and pig’s bristles, 
and then I can do no more ! ” said the old elf-servant. 

“ Dear father ! ” said the youngest of the daughters, “ are 
you not going to tell me who these grand strangers are?” 

“Well, well,” he said, “I suppose I must tell you now. 
Two of my daughters must prepare themselves to be married, 
— two will certainly make marriages. The old Trold chief- 
tain from Norway, that lives on the Dovrefield, among his 
many rock castles and fastnesses and gold works, which are 
better than you would expect, is coming down here with 
his two sons. They are coming to look for wives. The old 
Trold is a regular honest Norwegian veteran, straightforward 
and merry. I used to know him in the olden days, when 
we drank to our good fellowship. He came here to fetch a 
wife, but she is dead now. She was a daughter of the king 
of the chalk cliffs at Moen. As the saying is, ‘he took his 
wife on the chalk,’ viz., bought her on tick. I am quite 
anxious to see the old fellow. The sons, they say, are a 
pair of overgrown, ill-mannered cubs ; but perhaps they are 
not so bad ; I daresay they will improve as they grow older. 
See if you can’t lick them into shape a bit.” 

“And when do they come?” asked one of the daughters. 

“ That depends upon wind and weather,” said the elf-king. 
“ They travel economically, and they will take their chance 
of a ship. I wanted them to come round by Sweden, but 
the old fellow can’t bring himself to that yet. He doesn’t 
march with the times, but I don’t hold with that ! ” 

At this moment two will-o’-the-wisps came hopping along, 
one faster than the other, so of course one arrived before the 
other. 

“They are coming, they are coming ! ” they cried. 

“Give me my crown, and let me stand in the moonlight,” 
said the elf-king. 

The daughters raised their scarves and curtseyed to the 
ground. 

E 


56 The Elf-Hill 

There stood the Trold chieftain from the Dovrefield; he 
wore a crown of hardened icicles and polished fir cones, and 
besides this, he had on a bearskin coat and snow-shoes. 
His sons, on the other hand, had bare necks and wore no 
braces, because they were strong men. 

“Is that a hill?” asked the youngest of the brothers, 
pointing to the Elf-hill. “We should call it a hole in 
Norway.” 

“ Lads ! ” cried the old man, “ holes go inwards, hills go 
upwards ! Haven’t you got eyes in your heads ? ” 

The only thing that astonished them, they said, was that 
they understood the language without any trouble. 

“ Don’t make fools of yourselves,” said the old man ; “ one 
might think you were only half baked.” 

Then they went into the Elf-hill, where the company was 
of the grandest, although they had been got together in such 
a hurry; you might almost say they had been blown to- 
gether. It was all charming, and arranged to suit every- 
one’s taste. The merman and his daughters sat at table in 
great tubs of water, and said it was just like being at home. 
Everybody had excellent table manners, except the two 
young Norwegian Trolds; they put their feet up on the 
table, but then they thought anything they did was 
right. 

“Take your feet out of the way of the dishes,” said the 
old Trold, and they obeyed him, but not at once. They 
tickled the ladies they took in to dinner with fir cones out of 
their pockets ; then they pulled off their boots, so as to be 
quite comfortable, and handed the boots to the ladies to hold. 
Their father, the old Trold chieftain, was very different; he 
told no end of splendid stories about the proud Norwegian 
mountains, and the waterfalls dashing down in white foam 
with a roar like thunder. He told them about the salmon 
leaping up against the rushing water, when the nixies played 
their golden harps. Then he went on to tell them about the 
sparkling winter nights when the sledge bells rang and the 
lads flew over the ice with blazing lights, the ice which w r as 
so transparent that you could see the startled fish darting 
away under your feet. Yes, indeed, he could tell stories, 
you could see and hear the things he described; the saw 
mills going, the men and maids singing their songs and 
dancing the merry Hailing dance. Huzza ! All at once the 
old Trold gave the elf housekeeper a smacking kiss, such a 


The Elf-Hill 57 

kiss it was, and yet they were not a bit related. Then the 
elf-maidens had to dance, first plain dancing, and then step 
dancing, and it was most becoming to them. Then came a 
fancy dance. 

Preserve us, how nimble they were on their legs, you 
couldn’t tell where they began, or where they ended, you 
couldn’t tell which were arms and which were legs, they were 
all mixed up together like shavings in a saw-pit. They twirled 
round and round so often that it made the hell-horse feel 
quite giddy and unwell and he had to leave the table. 

“Prrrrr!” said the old Trold. “There is some life in 
those legs, but what else can they do besides dancing and 
pointing their toes and all those whirligigs ? ” 

“ We will soon shew you ! ” said the elf-king, and he called 
out his youngest daughter ; she was thin and transparent as 
moonshine, and was the most ethereal of all the daughters. 
She put a little white stick in her mouth and vanished 
instantly ; this was her accomplishment. 

But the Trold said he did not like that accomplishment 
in a wife, nor did he think his boys would appreciate it. 
The second one could walk by her own side as if she had a 
shadow, and no elves have shadows. 

The third was quite different; she had studied in the 
marsh witches’ brewery, and understood larding alder stumps 
with glow-worms. 

“She will be a good housewife,” said the Trold, and then 
he saluted her with his eyes instead of drinking her health, 
for he did not want to drink too much. 

Now came the turn of the fourth ; she had a big golden 
harp to play, and when she touched the first string every- 
body lifted up their left legs (for all the elfin folk are left 
legged). But when she touched the second string everybody 
had to do what she wished. 

“She is a dangerous woman!” said the Trold, but both 
his sons left the hill, for they were tired of it all. 

“ And what can the next daughter do ? ” asked the old Trold. 

“I have learnt to like the Norwegians,” she said, “and I 
shall never marry unless I can go to Norway !” 

But the smallest of the sisters whispered to the Trold, 
“ that is only because she once heard a song which said that 
when the world came to an end, the rocks of Norway would 
still stand, and that is why she wants to go there, she is so 
afraid of being exterminated.” 


58 The Elf-Hill 

“ Ho, ho !” said the Trold, “ so that slipped out. But what 
can the seventh do ? ” 

“ The sixth comes before the seventh,” said the elf-king, 
for he could reckon, but she would not come forward. 

“I can only tell people the truth,” she said. “Nobody 
cares for me, and I have enough to do in making my wind- 
ing sheet.” 

Now came the seventh and last, what could she do ? Well 
she could tell stories as many as ever she liked. 

“ Here are my five fingers,” said the old Trold, “ tell me a 
story for each one.” 

The elf-maiden took hold of his wrist, and he chuckled 
and laughed, till he nearly choked. When she came to the 
fourth finger, which had a gold ring on it, as if it knew there 
was to be a betrothal, the Trold said, “ Hold fast what you 
have got, the hand is yours, I will have you for a wife 
myself ! ” The elf-maiden said that the stories about 
Guldbrand, the fourth finger, and little Peter Playman, the 
fifth, had not yet been told. 

“Never mind, keep those till winter. Then you shall tell 
us about the fir, and the birch, and the fairy gifts, and the 
tingling frost. You shall have every opportunity of telling 
us stories ; nobody up there does it yet. We will sit in the 
Stone Hall, where the pine logs blaze, and drink mead out 
of the golden horns of the old Norwegian kings. The river 
god gave me a couple. When we sit there the mountain 
sprite comes to pay us a visit, and he will sing you the songs 
of the Sceter girls. The salmon will leap in the waterfalls, 
and beat against the stonewall, but it won’t get in. Ah, you 
may believe me when I say that we lead a merry life there in 
good old Norway. But where are the lads ? ” 

Yes, where were the lads? They were running about 
the fields, blowing out the will-o’-the-wisps, who came so 
willingly for the torchlight procession. 

“Why do you gad about out there?” said the Trold. 
“ I have taken a mother for you, now you can come and 
take one of the aunts.” 

But the lads said they would rather make a speech, 
and drink toasts ; they had no wish to marry. Then 
they made their speeches, and drank toasts and tipped 
their glasses up to shew that they had emptied them. 
After that they pulled off their coats and went to sleep 
on the table, to show that they were quite at home. But 


The Elf-Hill 59 

the old Trold danced round and round the room with his 
young bride, and exchanged boots with her, which was 
grander than exchanging rings. 

“ There is the cock crowing ! ” said the old house- 
keeper. “Now we must shut the shutters, so that the sun 
may not burn us up.” 

Then the hill closed up. But the lizards went on 
running up and down the clefts of the tree; and they 
said to each other. “Ah, how much I liked the old 
Trold.” 

“ I liked the boys better,” said the earthworm, but 
then it couldn’t see, poor, miserable creature that it was. 



The Real Princess 


There was once a prince, and he wanted a princess, but 
then she must be a real princess. He travelled right round 
the world to find one, but there was always something 
wrong. There were plenty of princesses, but whether they 
were real princesses he had great difficulty in discovering ; 
there was always something which was not quite right about 
them. So at last he had to come home again, and he was 
very sad because he wanted a real princess so badly. 

One evening there was a terrible storm ; it thundered 
and lightened and the rain poured down in torrents ; 
indeed it was a fearful night. 

In the middle of the storm somebody knocked at the 
town gate, and the old King himself went to open it. 

It was a princess who stood outside, but she was in a 
terrible state from the rain and the storm. The water 
streamed out of her hair and her clothes, it ran in at the 
top of her shoes and out at the heel, but she said that she 
was a real princess. 

“Well we shall soon see if that is true,” thought the 
old Queen, but she said nothing. She went into the 
bedroom, took all the bedclothes off and laid a pea on the 
bedstead : then she took twenty mattresses and piled them 
on the top of the pea, and then twenty feather beds on 
the top of the mattresses. This was where the princess 
was to sleep that night. In the morning they asked her 
how she had slept. 

“ Oh terribly badly ! ” said the Princess. “ I have hardly 
closed my eyes the whole night ! Heaven knows what was in 
the bed. I seemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and my 
whole body is black and blue this morning. It is terrible ! ” 

They saw at once that she must be a real princess when 
she had felt the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty 
feather beds. Nobody but a real princess could have 
such a delicate skin. 

'60 


6i 


The Real Princess 

So the prince took her to be his wife, for now he was 
sure that he had found a real princess, and the pea was 
put into the Museum, where it may still be seen if no one 
has stolen it. 

Now this is a true story. 



The King 

going to open the gate 


A Picture from the Ramparts 

It is autumn, and we are standing on the ramparts round 
the citadel, looking at the ships sailing on the Sound, and 
at the opposite coast of Sweden which stands out 
clearly in the evening sun-light. Behind us the ramparts 
fall away steeply ; around are stately trees from which the 
golden leaves are falling fast. Down below us we see some 
dark and gloomy buildings, surrounded with wooden 
palisades, and inside these, where the sentries are walking 
up and dowm, it is darker still, yet not so gloomy as it is 
behind yon iron grating ; that is where the w r orst convicts 
are confined. A ray from the setting sun falls into the bare 
room. The sun shines upon good and bad alike ! The 
gloomy, savage prisoner looks bitterly at the chilly sunbeam. 
A little bird flutters against the grating. The bird sings to 
good and bad alike ! It twitters softly for a little while, and 
remains perched, flutters its wings, picks a feather from its 
breast, and puffs its plumage up. The bad man in chains 
looks at it, a milder expression steals over his hideous face. 
A thought which is not quite clear to himself steals into his 
heart ; it is related to the sunshine coming through the grat- 
ing, related to the scent of violets, which in spring grow so 
thickly outside the window. Now is heard the music of 
a huntsman’s horn clear and lively, the bird flies away from 
the grating, the sunbeam disappears, and all is dark again 
in the narrow cell, dark in the heart of the bad man. Yet 
the sun has shone into it, and the bird has sung its song. 

Continue ye merry notes' ! The evening is mild, the sea 
is calm and bright as any mirror. 



61 


The Red Shoes 


There was once a little girl; she was a tiny, delicate little 
thing, but she always had to go about barefoot in summer, 
because she was very poor. In winter she only had a pair 
of heavy wooden shoes, and her ankles were terribly chafed. 

An old mother shoemaker lived in the middle of the 
village, and she made a pair of little shoes out of some strips 
of red cloth. They were very clumsy, but they were made 
with the best intention, for the little girl was to have them. 
Her name Karen. 

These shoes were given to her, and she wore them for 
the first time on the day her mother was buried ; they were 
certainly not mourning, but she had no others, and so she 
walked bare-legged in them behind the poor deal coffin. 

Just then a big old carriage drove by, and a big old lady 
was seated in it ; she looked at the little girl, and felt very 
very sorry for her, and said to the Parson, “ Give the little 
girl to me and I will look after her and be kind to her.” 
Karen thought it was all because of the red shoes, but the 
old lady said they were hideous, and they were burnt. 
Karen was well and neatly dressed, and had to learn reading 
and sewing. People said she was pretty, but her mirror 
said, “you are more than pretty, you are lovely.” 

At this time the Queen was taking a journey through the 
country, and she had her little daughter the Princess with 
her. The people, and among them Karen, crowded round 
the palace where they were staying, to see them. The little 
Princess stood at a window to show herself. She wore 
neither a train nor a golden crown, but she was dressed all 
in white with a beautiful pair of red morocco shoes. They 
were indeed a contrast to those the poor old mother shoe- 
maker had made for Karen. Nothing in the world could 
be compared to these red shoes. 

The time came when Karen was old enough to be 
confirmed ; she had new clothes, and she was also to have 

63 


64 The Red Shoes 

a pair of new shoes. The rich shoemaker in the town was 
to take the measure of her little foot ; his shop was full of 
glass cases of the most charming shoes and shiny leather 
boots. They looked beautiful, but the old lady could not 
see very well, so it gave her no pleasure to look at them. 
Among all the other shoes there was one pair of red shoes 
like those worn by the Princess ; oh, how pretty they were. 
The shoemaker told them that they had been made for an 
earl’s daughter, but they had not fitted. “ I suppose they 
are patent leather,” said the old lady, “they are so shiny.” 

“ Yes, they do shine,” said Karen, who tried them on. 
They fitted and were bought ; but the old lady had not the 
least idea that they were red, or she would never have 
allowed Karen to wear them for her Confirmation. This 
she did however. 

Eyerybody looked at her feet, and when she walked up 
the church to the chancel, she thought that even the old 
pictures, those portraits of dead and gone priests and their 
wives, with stiff collars and long black clothes, fixed their 
eyes upon her shoes. She thought of nothing else when 
the priest laid his hand upon her head and spoke to her 
of holy baptism, the covenant with God, and that from 
henceforth she was to be a responsible Christian person. 
The solemn notes of the organ resounded, the children sang 
with their sweet voices, the old precentor sang, but Karen 
only thought about her red shoes. 

liy the afternoon the old lady had been told on all sides 
that the shoes w r ere red, and she said it was very naughty 
and most improper. For the future, whenever Karen went 
to the church, she was to wear black shoes, even if they 
were old. Next Sunday there was Holy Communion, and 
Karen was to receive it for the first time. She looked at 
the black shoes and then at the red ones — then she looked 
again at the red, and at last put them on. 

It was beautiful, sunny weather; Karen and the old lady 
went by the path through the cornfield, and it was rather 
dusty. By the church door stood an old soldier, with a 
crutch ; he had a curious long beard, it was more red than 
white, in fact it was almost quite red. He bent down to 
the ground and asked the old lady if he might dust her 
shoes. Karen put out her little foot too. “See, what 
beautiful dancing shoes ! ” said the soldier. “ Mind you 
stick fast when you dance,” and as he spoke he struck the 


The Red Shoes 65 

soles with his hand. The old lady gave the soldier a copper 
and went into the church with Karen. All the people in 
the church looked at Karen’s red shoes, and all the portraits 
looked too. When Karen knelt at the altar-rails and the 
chalice was put to her lips, she only thought of the red 
shoes ; she seemed to see them floating before her eyes. 
She forgot to join in the hymn of praise, and she forgot to 
say the Lords Prayer. 

Now everybody left the church, and the old lady got into 
her carriage. Karen lifted her foot to get in after her, but 
just then the old soldier, who was still standing there, said, 
“ See what pretty dancing shoes ! ” Karen couldn’t help it ; 
she took a few dancing steps, and when she began her feet 
continued to dance; it was just as if the shoes had a power 
over them. She danced right round the church ; she 
couldn’t stop ; the coachman had to run after her and take 
hold of her, and lift her into the carriage ; but her feet con- 
tinued to dance, so that she kicked the poor lady horribly. 
At last they got the shoes off, and her feet had a little rest. 

When they got home the shoes were put away in a 
cupboard, but Karen could not help going to look at 
them. 

The old lady became very ill; they said she could not 
live ; she had to be carefully nursed and tended, and no 
one was nearer than Karen to do this. But there was to 
be a grand ball in the town, and Karen was invited. She 
looked at the old lady, who after all could not live; she 
looked at the red shoes; she thought there was no harm 
in doing so. She put on the red shoes, even that she might 
do ; but then she went to the ball and began to dance ! 
The shoes would not let her do what she liked : when she 
wanted to go to the right, they danced to the left; when 
she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced down 
the room, then down the stairs, through the streets and out 
of the town gate. Away she danced, and away she had to 
dance, right away into the dark forest. Something shone 
up above the trees, and she thought it was the moon, for it 
was a face, but it was the old soldier with the red beard, 
and he nodded and said, “ See what pretty dancing shoes ! ” 

This frightened her terribly and she wanted to throw off 
the red shoes, but they stuck fast. She tore off her 
stockings but the shoes had grown fast to her feet, and off 
she danced, and off she had to dance over fields and 


66 The Red Shoes 

meadows, in rain and sunshine, by day and by night, but 
at night it was fearful. 

She danced into the open churchyard but the dead did 
not join her dance, they had something much better to do. 
She wanted to sit down on a pauper’s grave where the bitter 
wormwood grew, but there was no rest nor repose for her. 
When she danced towards the open church door, she saw 
an angel standing there in long white robes and wings which 
reached from his shoulders to the ground, his face was grave 
and stern, and in his hand he held a broad and shining 
sword. 

“Dance you shall!” said he, “you shall dance in your 
red shoes till you are pale and cold. Till your skin shrivels 
up and you are a skeleton ! You shall dance from door to 
door, and wherever you find proud vain children, you must 
knock at the door so that they may see you and fear you. 
Yea you shall dance ” 

“ Mercy ! ” shrieked Karen, but she did not hear the 
angel’s answer, for the shoes bore her through the gate into 
the fields over roadways and paths, ever and ever she was 
forced to dance. 

One morning she danced past a door she knew well ; she 
heard the sound of a hymn from within, and a coffin covered 
with flowers was being carried out. Then she knew that the 
old lady was dead, and it seemed to her that she was for- 
saken by all the world, and cursed by the holy angels of 
God. 

On and ever on she danced ; dance she must even through 
the dark nights. The shoes bore her away over briars and 
stubble till her feet were torn and bleeding; she danced 
away over the heath till she came to a little lonely house. 
She knew the executioner lived here, and she tapped with 
her fingers on the window pane and said, 

“ Come out ! come out ! I can’t come in for I am 
dancing ! ” 

The executioner said, “You can’t know who I am? I 
chop the bad people’s heads off, and I see that my axe is 
quivering.” 

“ Don’t chop my head off,” said Karen, “ for then I can 
never repent of my sins, but pray, pray chop my feet off 
with the red shoes ! ” 

Then she confessed all her sins, and the executioner 
chopped off her feet with the red shoes, but the shoes 


The Red Shoes 67 

danced right away with the little feet into the depths of the 
forest. 

Then he made her a pair of wooden legs and crutches, 
and he taught her a psalm, the one penitents always sing ; 
and she kissed the hand which had wielded the axe, and 
went away over the heath. 

“ I have suffered enough for those red shoes ! ” said she. 
“ I will go to church now, so that they may see me ! ” and 
she went as fast as she could to the church door. When 
she got there, the red shoes danced up in front of her, and 
she was frightened and went home again. 

She was very sad all the week, and shed many bitter tears, 
but when Sunday came, she said “ Now then, I have suffered 
and struggled long enough ; I should think I am quite as 
good as many who sit holding their heads so high in church ! ” 
She went along quite boldly, but she did not get further 
than the gate before she saw the red shoes dancing in front 
of her ; she was more frightened than ever, and turned back, 
this time with real repentance in her heart. Then she went 
to the parson’s house, and begged to be taken into service, 
she would be very industrious and work as hard as she 
could, she didn’t care what wages they gave her, if only she 
might have a roof over her head and live among kind 
people. The parson’s wife was sorry for her, and took her 
into her service; she proved to be very industrious and 
thoughtful. She sat very still, and listened most attentively 
in the evening when the parson read the Bible. All the 
little ones were very fond of her, but when they chattered 
about finery and dress, and about being as beautiful as a 
queen, she would shake her head. 

Next Sunday they all went to church, and they asked her 
if she would go with them ; but she looked sadly, with tears 
in her eyes, at her crutches, and they went without her to 
hear the word of God, and she sat in her little room alone. 
It was only big enough for a bed and a chair; she sat there 
with her prayer book in her hand, and as she read it with a 
humble mind, she heard the notes of the organ, borne from 
the church by the wind; she raised her tear stained face 
and said, “ Oh, God help me ! ” 

Then the sun shone brightly round her, and the angel in 
the white robes whom she had seen on yonder night, at the 
church door, stood before her. He no longer held the 
sharp sword in his hand, but a beautiful green branch, 


68 The Red Shoes 

covered with roses. He touched the ceiling with it and it 
rose to a great height, and wherever he touched it a golden 
star appeared. Then he touched the walls and they spread 
themselves out, and she saw and heard the organ. She saw 
the pictures of the old parsons and their wives ; the con- 
gregation were all sitting in their seats singing aloud — for the 
church itself had come home to the poor girl, in her narrow 
little chamber, or else she had been taken to it. She found 
herself on the bench with the other people from the 
Parsonage. And when the hymn had come to an end they 
looked up and nodded to her and said, “it was a good thing 
you came after all, little Karen ! ” 

“It was through Gods mercy!” she said. The organ 
sounded, and the children's voices echoed so sweetly through 
the choir. The warm sunshine streamed brightly in through 
the window, right up to the bench where Karen sat; her 
heart was so over-filled with the sunshine, with peace, and 
with joy that it broke. Her soul flew with the sunshine to 
heaven, and no one there asked about the red shoes. 



Thumbelisa 


There was once a woman who had the greatest longing for 
a little tiny child, but she had no idea where to get one ; so 
she went to an old witch and said to her, “ I do so long to 
have a little child, will you tell me where I can get one ? ” 

“ Oh, we shall be able to manage that,” said the witch. 
“ Here is a barley corn for you ; it is not at all the same 
kind as that which grows in the peasant’s field, or with which 
chickens are fed ; plant it in a flower pot and you will see 
what will appear.” 

“ Thank you, oh, thank you ! ” said the woman, and she 
gave the witch twelve pennies, then went home and planted 
the barley corn, and a large, handsome flower sprang up at 
once; it looked exactly like a tulip, but the petals were 
tightly shut up, just as if they were still in bud. “That is 
a lovely flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the pretty 
red and yellow petals ; as she kissed it the flower burst open 
with a loud snap. It was a real tulip, you could see that ; 
but right in the middle of the flower on the green stool sat a 
liitle tiny girl, most lovely and delicate ; she was not more 
than an inch in height, so she was called Thumbelisa. 

Her cradle was a smartly varnished walnut shell, with the 
blue petals of violets for a mattress and a rose-leaf to cover 
her ; she slept in it at night, but during the day she played 
about on the table where the woman had placed a plate, sur- 
rounded by a wreath of flowers on the outer edge with their 
stalks in water. A large tulip petal floated on the 
water, and on this little Thumbelisa sat and sailed 
about from one side of the plate to the other ; she had two 
white horse hairs for oars. It was a pretty sight. She could 
sing, too, with such delicacy and charm as was never heard 
before. 

One night as she lay in her pretty bed, a great ugly toad 
hopped in at the window, for there was a broken pane. 
Ugh ! how hidepus that great wet toad was ; it hopped right 

69 


70 Thumbelisa 

down on to the table where Thumbelisa lay fast asleep, 
under the red rose-leaf. 

“ Here is a lovely wife for my son,” said the toad, and 
then she took up the walnut shell where Thumbelisa slept 
and hopped away with it through the window, down into 
the garden. A great broad stream ran through it, but just 
at the edge it was swampy and muddy, and it was here that 
the toad lived with her son. Ugh ! how ugly and hideous 
he was too, exactly like his mother. “ Koax, koax, brekke- 
ke-kex, that was all he had to say when he saw the lovely little 
girl in the walnut shell. 

“ Do not talk so loud or you will wake her,” said the old 
toad ; “ she might escape us yet, for she is as light as thistle- 
down ! We will put her on one of the broad water lily leaves 
out in the stream ; it will be just like an island to her, she 
is so small and light. She won’t be able to run away from 
there while we get the state-room ready down under the 
mud, which you are to inhabit.” 

A great many water lilies grew in the stream, their broad 
green leaves looked as if they were floating on the surface of 
the water. The leaf which was furthest from the shore was 
also the biggest, and to this one the old toad swam out with 
the walnut shell in which little Thumbelisa lay. 

The poor, tiny little creature woke up quite early in the 
morning, and when she saw where she was she began to cry 
most bitterly, for there was water on every side of the 
big green leaf, and she could not reach the land at any 
point. 

The old toad sat in the mud decking out her abode with 
grasses and the buds of the yellow water lilies, so as to have 
it very nice for the new daughter-in-law, and then she sw T am 
out with her ugly son to the leaf where Thumbelisa stood ; 
they wanted to fetch her pretty bed to place it in the bridal 
chamber before they took her there. The old toad made a 
deep curtsey in the water before her, and said, “ Here is my 
son, who is to be your husband, and you are to live together 
most comfortably down in the mud.” 

“ Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all the son could 
say. 

Then they took the pretty little bed and swam away with 
it, but Thumbelisa sat quite alone on the green leaf and 
cried because she did not want to live with the ugly toad, or 
have her horrid son for a husband. The little fish which 


Thumbelisa 71 

swam about in the water had no doubt seen the toad and 
heard what she said, so they stuck their heads up, wishing, 
I suppose, to see the little girl. As soon as they saw her, 
they were delighted with her, and were quite grieved to 
think that she was to go down to live with the ugly toad. 
No, that should never happen. They flocked together 
down in the water round about the green stem which held 
the leaf she stood upon, and gnawed at it with their teeth 
till it floated away down the stream carrying Thumbelisa 
away where the toad could not follow her. 

Thumbelisa sailed past place after place, and the little 
birds in the bushes saw her and sang, “ what a lovely little 
maid.” The leaf with her on it floated further and further 
away and in this manner reached foreign lands. 

A pretty little white butterfly fluttered round and round 
her for some time and at last settled on the leaf, for it had 
taken quite a fancy to Thumbelisa : she was so happy now, 
because the toad could not reach her and she was sailing 
through such lovely scenes ; the sun shone on the water and 
it looked like liquid gold. Then she took her sash and tied 
one end round the butterfly, and the other she made fast to 
the leaf which went gliding on quicker and quicker, and she 
with it for she was standing on the leaf. 

At this moment a big cockchafer came flying along, he 
caught sight of her and in an instant he fixed his claw 
round her slender waist and flew off with her, up into a tree, 
but the green leaf floated down the stream and the butterfly 
with it, for he was tied to it and could not get loose. 

Heavens ! how frightened poor little Thumbelisa was when 
the cockchafer carried her up into the tree, but she was 
most of all grieved about the pretty white butterfly which 
she had fastened to the leaf ; if he could not succeed in 
getting loose he would be starved to death. 

But the cockchafer cared nothing for that. He settled 
with her on the largest leaf on the tree, and fed her with 
honey from the flowers, and he said that she was lovely 
although she was not a bit like a chafer. Presently all the 
other chafers which lived in the tree came to visit them ; 
they looked at Thumbelisa and the young lady chafers 
twitched their feelers and said, “she has also got two legs, 
what a good effect it has.” “ She has no feelers,” said 
another. “ She is so slender in the waist, fie, she looks like 
a human being.” “How ugly she is,” said all the mother 

F 


72 Thumbelisa 

chafers, and yet little Thumbelisa was so pretty. That was 
certainly also the opinion of the cockchafer who had 
captured her, but when all the others said she was ugly, he 
at last began to believe it too, and would not have anything 
more to do with her, she might go wherever she liked ! 
They flew down from the tree with her and placed her on a 
daisy, where she cried because she was so ugly that the 
chafers would have nothing to do with her ; and after all, 
she was more beautiful than anything you could imagine, as 
delicate and transparent as the finest rose-leaf. 

Poor little Thumbelisa lived all the summer quite alone 
in the wood. She plaited a bed of grass for herself and 
hung it up under a big dock-leaf which sheltered her from 
the rain ; she sucked the honey from the flowers for her 
food, and her drink was the dew which lay on the leaves in 
the morning. In this way the summer and autumn passed, 
but then came the winter. All the birds which used to sing 
so sweetly to her flew away, the great dock-leaf under which 
she had lived shrivelled up leaving nothing but a dead 
yellow stalk, and she shivered with the cold, for her clothes 
were worn out ; she was such a tiny creature, poor little 
Thumbelisa, she certainly must be frozen to death. It began 
to snow and every snow-flake which fell upon her was like a 
whole shovelful upon one of us, for we are big and she was 
only one inch in height. Then she wrapped herself up in a 
withered leaf, but that did not warm her much, she trembled 
with the cold. 

Close to the wood in which she had been living lay a large 
cornfield, but the corn had long ago been carried away and 
nothing remained but the bare, dry, stubble which stood up 
out of the frozen ground. The stubble was quite a forest 
for her to walk about in : oh, how she shook with the cold. 
Then she came to the door of a field-mouse’s home. It was 
a little hole down under the stubble. The field-mouse lived 
so cosily and warm there, her whole room was full of corn, 
and she had a beautiful kitchen and larder besides. Poor 
Thumbelisa stood just inside the door like any other poor 
beggar child and begged for a little piece of barley corn, for 
she had had nothing to eat for two whole days. 

“You poor little thing,” said the field-mouse, for she was 
at bottom a good old field-mouse. “ Come into my warm 
room and dine with me.” Then, as she took a fancy to 
Thumbelisa, she said, “ you may with pleasure stay with me 


Thumbelisa 73 

for the winter, but you must keep my room clean and tidy 
and tell me stories, for I am very fond of them,” and 
Thumbelisa did what the good old field-mouse desired and 
was on the whole very comfortable. 

“Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the field-mouse ; 
“ my neighbour generally comes to see me every week-day. 
He is even better housed than I am ; his rooms are very 
large and he wears a most beautiful black velvet coat; if 
only you could get him for a husband you would indeed be 
well settled, but he can’t see. You must tell him all the 
most beautiful stories you know.” 

But Thumbelisa did not like this, and she would have 
nothing to say to the neighbour for he was a mole. He 
came and paid a visit in his black velvet coat. He was very 
rich and wise, said the field-mouse, and his home was 
twenty times as large as hers; and he had much learning 
but he did not like the sun or the beautiful flowers, in fact 
he spoke slightingly of them for he had never seen them. 
Thumbelisa had to sing to him and she sang both “ Fly 
away cockchafer” and “ A monk, he wandered through the 
meadow,” then the mole fell in love with her because of her 
sweet voice, but he did not say anything for he was of a 
discreet turn of mind. 

He had just made a long tunnel through the ground from 
his house to theirs, and he gave the field-mouse and 
Thumbelias leave to walk in it whenever they liked. He 
told them not to be afraid of the dead bird which was lying 
in the passage. It was a whole bird with feathers and beak 
which had probably died quite recently at the beginning of 
the winter and was now entombed just where he had made 
his tunnel. 

The mole took a piece of tinder-wood in his mouth, for 
that shines like fire in the dark, and walked in front of them 
to light them in the long dark passage ; when they came to 
the place where the dead bird lay, the mole thrust his broad 
nose up to the roof and pushed the earth up so as to make 
a big hole through which the daylight shone. In the middle 
of the floor lay a dead swallow, with its pretty wings closely 
pressed to its sides, and the legs and head drawn in under 
the feathers; no doubt the poor bird had died of cold. 
Thumbelisa was so sorry for it ; she loved all the little birds, 
for they had twittered and sung so sweetly to her during the 
whole summer; but the mole kicked it with his short legs 


74 Thumbelisa 

and said, “ Now it will pipe no more ! it must be a miserable 
fate to be born a little bird ! Thank heaven ! no child of 
mine can be a bird ; a bird like that has nothing but its twitter 
and dies of hunger in the winter.” 

“Yes, as a sensible man, you may well say that,” said the 
field-mouse. “ What has a bird for all its twittering when 
the cold weather comes? it has to hunger and freeze, but 
then it must cut a dash.” 

Thumbelisa did not say anything, but when the others 
turned their backs to the bird, she stooped down and stroked 
aside the feathers which lay over its head, and kissed its 
closed eyes. “ Perhaps it was this very bird which sang so 
sweetly to me in the summer,” she thought ; “what pleasure 
it gave me, the dear pretty bird.” 

The mole now closed up the hole which let in the daylight 
and conducted the ladies to their home. Thumbelisa could 
not sleep at all in the night, so she got up out of her bed 
and plaited a large handsome mat of hay and then she 
carried it down and spread it all over the dead bird, and 
laid some soft cotton wool which she had found in the field- 
mouse’s room close round its sides, so that it might have a 
warm bed on the cold ground. 

“Good-bye, you sweet little bird,” said she, “good-bye, 
and thank you for your sweet song through the summer 
when all the trees were green and the sun shone warmly 
upon us.” Then she laid her head close up to the bird’s 
breast, but was quite startled at a sound, as if something was 
thumping inside it. It was the bird’s heart. It was not 
dead but lay in a swoon, and now that it had been warmed 
it began to revive. 

In the autumn all the swallows fly away to warm countries, 
but if one happens to be belated, it feels the cold so much 
that it falls down like a dead thing, and remains lying where 
it falls till the snow covers it up. Thumbelisa quite shook 
with fright for the bird was very, very big beside her who was 
only one inch high, but she gathered up her courage, packed 
the wool closer round the poor bird, and fetched a leaf of 
mint which she had herself for a coverlet and laid it over the 
bird’s head. The next night she stole down again to it and 
found it alive but so feeble that it could only just open its 
eyes for a moment to look at Thumbelisa who stood with a 
bit of tinder-wood in her hand, for she had no other lantern. 

“ Many, many thanks, you sweet child,” said the sick 


Thumbelisa 75 

swallow to her ; “ you have warmed me beautifully. I shall 
soon have strength to fly out into the warm sun again.” 

“ Oh ! ” said she, “ it is so cold outside, it snows and 
freezes, stay in your warm bed, I will tend you.” Then she 
brought water to the swallow in a leaf, and when it had 
drunk some, it told her how it had torn its wing on a black 
thorn bush, and therefore could not fly as fast as the other 
swallows which were taking flight then for the distant warm 
lands. At last it fell down on the ground, but after that 
it remembered nothing, and did not in the least know how 
it had got into the tunnel. 

It stayed there all the winter, and Thumbelisa was good 
to it and grew very fond of it. She did not tell either the 
mole or the field-mouse anything about it, for they did not 
like the poor unfortunate swallow. 

As soon as the spring came and the warmth of the sun 
penetrated the ground, the swallow said good-bye to 
Thumbelisa, who opened the hole which the mole had 
made above. The sun streamed in deliciously upon them, 
and the swallow asked if she would not go with him, she 
could sit upon his back and they would fly far away into 
the green wood. But Thumbelisa knew that it would grieve 
the old field-mouse if she left her like that. 

“ No, I can’t,” said Thumbelisa. 

“ Good-bye, good-bye, then, you kind pretty girl,” said the 
swallow, and flew out into the sunshine. Thumbelisa looked 
after him and her eyes filled with tears, for she was very 
fond of the poor swallow. 

“ Tweet, tweet,” sang the bird, and flew into the green 
wood. 

Thumbelisa was very sad. She was not allowed to go 
out into the warm sunshine at all ; the corn which was sown 
in the field near the field-mouse’s house grew quite long, it 
was a thick forest for the poor little girl who was only an 
inch high. 

“ You must work at your trousseau this summer,” said the 
mouse to her, for their neighbour the tiresome mole in his 
black velvet coat had asked her to marry him. “ You shall 
have both woollen and linen, you shall have wherewith to 
clothe and cover yourself when you become the mole’s wife.” 
Thumbelisa had to turn the distaff and the field-mouse hired 
four spiders to spin and weave day and night. The mole 
paid a visit every evening and he was always saying that 


76 Thumbelisa 

when the summer came to an end, the sun would not shine 
nearly so warmly, now it burnt the ground as hard as a 
stone. Yes, when the summer was over he would celebrate 
his marriage ; but Thumbelisa was not at all pleased, for 
she did not care a bit for the tiresome mole. Every morn- 
ing at sunrise and every evening at sunset she used to steal 
out to the door, and when the wind blew aside the tops of the 
cornstalks so that she could see the blue sky, she thought 
how bright and lovely it was out there, and wished so much 
to see the dear swallow again ; but it never came back ; no 
doubt it was a long way off, flying about in the beautiful 
green woods. 

When the autumn came all Thumbelisa’s outfit was ready. 

“In four weeks you must be married,” said the field- 
mouse to her. But Thumbelisa cried and said that she 
would not have the tiresome mole for a husband. 

“ Fiddle-dee-dee,” said the field-mouse; “don’t be obstinate 
or I shall bite you with my white tooth. You are going to 
have a splendid husband ; the queen herself hasn’t the 
equal of his black velvet coat ; both his kitchen and his cellar 
are full. You should thank heaven for such a husband ! ” 

So they were to be married ; the mole had come to fetch 
Thumbelisa ; she was to live deep down under the ground 
with him, and never to go out into the warm sunshine, for 
he could not bear it. The poor child was very sad at the 
thought of bidding good-bye to the beautiful sun ; while she 
had been with the field-mouse she had at least been allowed 
to look at it from the door. 

“ Good-bye, you bright sun,” she saidas she stretched out 
her arms towards it and went a little way outside the field- 
mouse’s house, for now the harvest was over and only the 
stubble remained. “ Good-bye, good-bye ! ” she said, and 
threw her tiny arms round a little red flower growing there. 
“Give my love to the dear swallow if you happen to see 
him.” 

“Tweet, tweet,” she heard at this moment above her 
head. She looked up ; it was the swallow just passing. 
As soon as it saw Thumbelisa it was delighted ; she told it 
how unwilling she was to have the ugly mole for a husband, 
and that she was to live deep down underground where the 
sun never shone. She could not help crying about it. 

“The cold winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I 
am going to fly away to warm countries. Will you go 


Thumbelisa 77 

with me ? You can sit upon my back ! Tie yourself on with 
your sash, then we will fly away from the ugly mole and his 
dark cavern, tar away over the mountains to those warm 
countries where the sun shines with greater splendour than 
here, where it is always summer and there are heaps of 
flowers. Do fly with me, you sweet little Thumbelisa, who 
saved my life when I lay frozen in the dark earthy passage.” 

“ Yes, I will go with you,” said Thumbelisa, seating herself 
on the bird’s back with her feet on its out-spread wing. She 
tied her band tightly to one of the strongest feathers, and then 
the swallow flew away, high up in the air above forests and 
lakes, high up above the biggest mountains where the snow 
never melts ; and Thumbelisa shivered in the cold air, but 
then she crept under the bird’s warm feathers, and only 
stuck out her little head to look at the beautiful sights 
beneath her. 

Then at last they reached the warm countries. The sun 
shone with a warmer glow than here; the sky was twice as 
high, and the most beautiful green and blue grapes grew in 
clusters on the banks and hedgerows. Oranges and lemons 
hung in the woods which were fragrant with myrtles and 
sweet herbs, and beautiful children ran about the roads 
playing with the large gorgeously-coloured butterflies. But the 
swallow flew on and on, and the country grew more and 
more beautiful. Under magnificent green trees on the 
shores of the blue sea stood a dazzling white marble palace 
of ancient date ; vines wreathed themselves round the stately 
pillars. At the head of these there were countless nests, 
and the swallow who carried Thumbelisa lived in one of 
them. 

“ Here is my house,” said the swallow ; “ but if you will 
choose one of the gorgeous flowers growing down there, I 
will place you in it, and you will live as happily as you can 
wish.” 

“That would be delightful,” she said, and clapped her 
little hands. 

A great white marble column had fallen to the ground 
and lay there broken in three pieces, but between these 
the most lovely white flowers grew. The swallow flew down 
with Thumbelisa and put her upon one of the broad leaves ; 
what was her astonishment to find a little man in the middle 
of the flower, as bright and transparent as if he had been 
made of glass. He had a lovely golden crown upon his 


78 Thumbelisa 

head and the most beautiful bright wings upon his shoulders ; 
he was no bigger than Thumbelisa. He was the angel of 
the flowers. There was a similar little man or woman in 
every flower, but he was the king of them all. 

“ Heavens, how beautiful he is,” whispered Thumbelisa 
to the swallow. The little prince was quite frightened by 
the swallow, for it was a perfect giant of a bird to him, he 
who was so small and delicate, but when he saw Thumbelisa 
he was delighted ; she was the very prettiest girl he had 
ever seen. He therefore took the golden crown off his own 
head and placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if she 
would be his wife, and then she would be queen of the 
flowers ! Yes, he was certainly a very different kind of 
husband from the toad’s son, or the mole with his black 
velvet coat. So she accepted the beautiful prince, and out 
of every flower stepped a little lady or a gentleman so lovely 
that it was a pleasure to look at them. Each one brought 
a gift to Thumbelisa, but the best of all was a pair of pretty 
wings from a large white fly ; they were fastened on to her 
back, and then she too could fly from flower to flower. All 
was then delight and happiness, but the swallow sat alone 
in his nest and sang to them as well as he could, for his 
heart was heavy, he was so fond of Thumbelisa himself, and 
would have wished never to part from her. 

“ You shall not be called Thumbelisa,” said the angel of 
the flower to her ; “ that is such an ugly name, and you are 
so pretty. We will call you May.” 

“ Good-bye, good-bye,” said the swallow, and flew away 
again from the warm countries, far away back to Denmark ; 
there he had a little nest above the window where the man 
lived who wrote this story, and he sang his “ tweet, tweet ” 
to the man, and so we have the whole story. 



The Goblin 
and the 
Huckster 


There was once a real 
student who lived in 
an attic and possessed 
nothing at all. There 
was also a real huckster 
who lived on the ground 
floor and owned the 
whole house. The 
goblin made friends 
with him, for every 
Christmas he was given 
a plateful of porridge 
with a lump of butter 
in it. The huckster 
could very well afford 
this; so the goblin stayed in the shop, which was a 
very instructive place. 

One evening the student came in by the back door to 
buy himself some candles and cheese; he had no one to 
send so he went himself. He got what he asked for and 
paid for it, and the huckster nodded to him and said 
“good evening” to him, and his wife did the same. 
She was a woman who could do more than nod, she 
had “the gift of the gab!” The student returned the 
nod, and then remained standing buried in something he 
found printed on the paper in which the cheese was 
wrapped. It was a page torn out of an old book which 


79 



80 The Goblin and the Huckster 

ought never to have been torn up at all; it was an old 
book of poetry. 

“There is more of it lying there/’ said the huckster. “I 
gave a few coffee beans to an old woman for it ; if you will 
give me two pence you may have the rest of it.” 

“ Thank you,” said the student ; “ let me have it instead 
of the cheese ! I can eat plain bread and butter just as 
well; it would be a sin if the whole of that book were to be 
torn to bits. You are a capital fellow and a practical man, 
but you know no more about poetry than that tub ! ” 

Now this was a very rude speech, especially to the tub, 
but the huckster laughed; of course it was said as a kind 
of joke. But the goblin was much annoyed that anyone 
dared to say such a thing to a huckster who was a landlord 
and who sold the best butter. 

At night when the shop was shut and everybody in bed 
except the student, the goblin went in and stole the good- 
wife’s long tongue which she had no use for when she was 
asleep. On whatever object in the room he laid this article, 
it conferred the power of speech, and whatever the object, 
it became able to express its thoughts and feelings as glibly 
as the good wife herself. But only one could have it at a 
time, and this was a very good thing or they would all have 
been talking at once. 

The goblin laid the tongue down upon the tub which 
contained the old newspapers. 

“ Is it really true,” asked he, “ that you do not know 
what poetry is ? ” 

“ Of course I know,” said the tub ; “ it is the kind of 
stuff which is printed at the foot of the newspaper columns, 
and is sometimes cut out. I imagine that I have more 
of it within me than the student has, and after all I am 
only a poor tub compared to the huckster.” 

Then the goblin put the tongue upon the coffee-mill, 
and what a pace it went at ! He also put it on the butter 
cask and the cash box. They were all of the same opinion as 
the tub ; and what the majority agree upon must be respected. 

“Now the student shall have it,” said the goblin, and 
he stole silently up the back stairs to the attic where the 
student lived. There was a light burning, and the goblin 
peeped through the key-hole, and saw that the student was 
reading the tattered book from downstairs. But how bright 
the room was ! A clear ray of light shot forth from the 


The Goblin and the Huckster 81 

book, which widened out to a stem, and then to a mighty 
tree, which rose and spread its branches right over the 
student. The leaves were delightfully fresh, and every 
flower was like a lovely girl’s face, some with dark and 
sparkling eyes, while others were wonderfully blue and 
clear. Every fruit was a shining star and the air was filled 
with music. No, the little goblin had never imagined, 
much less seen or taken part in such splendours. So then 
he stood on tip-toe peeping and peeping till the light was 
put out. The student blew out his lamp and went to bed, 
but the little goblin remained by the door, for the sweet 
songs still echoed through the air, making a charming 
lullaby for the student who was taking his rest. 

“This is splendid,” said the goblin ; “I hadn’t expected 
anything of the kind ! — I think I will stay with the 
student — ! ” and he thought — and thought again — and 
then he sighed, “ but the student has no porridge ! ” — Then 
he went away, — yes, he went back to the huckster, and it 
was a good thing he went, for the tub had almost used up 
the goodwife’s volubility. He had given a description of 
all he contained from one side, and now he was just about 
to turn himself over to repeat the same from the other side, 
when the goblin came and took away the lady’s tongue to 
return it to her. But the whole shop, from the cash 
drawer to the firewood, took their opinions from the tub 
from that time ; and they respected it so highly and 
confided in it to such a degree, that when the huckster 
afterwards read the Art and Theatrical announcements in 
his Times , the evening one, they all thought that they came 
from the tub. 

But the little goblin no longer sat quietly listening to all 
the wisdom and learning downstairs ; no, as soon as a 
light appeared in the attic, it had the same effect upon 
him as if the rays of light had been stout anchor hawsers, 
for they drew him upwards and forced him to go and peep 
through the key-hole. A mighty power surged around him, 
such as we feel when the Almighty moves over the face 
of the rolling waters in a storm, and he burst into tears ; 
he did not himself know wherefore, but there was some 
soothing in these tears. How splendid it must be to sit 
with the student under that tree, the tree of knowledge, 
but that might not be — he was glad even to stand at the 
key-hole. 


82 The Goblin and the Huckster 

He still came to peep through the key-hole when the 
autumn winds blew down upon it from the trap-door; it 
was cold, very cold, but the little creature did not feel it 
till the light went out in the attic and the sounds died 
away on the wind. Then how he shivered ! he crept down 
again to his cosy corner, it was warm and comfortable 
there ! And when the Christmas porridge appeared with 
a lump of butter in it, — why then the huckster was master. 

But in the middle of the night the goblin was roused 
up by a frightful uproar and banging on the window 
shutters; the people outside were thundering on them. 
The watchman was blowing his whistle ; there was a great 
fire, the whole street was lighted up. Was it in this house, 
or the next? Where? It was terrible. The huckster’s 
wife was so upset that she took the gold earrings out of 
her ears and put them into her pocket, so as at least to save 
something. The huckster ran to look for his bonds, 
and the maid-servant for the silk mantle she had just 
managed to afford herself. Everybody wanted to save the 
most precious thing he had, and the goblin wanted to do 
the same, so with a hop and a skip he was up the stairs 
and into the student’s room. The student stood calmly at 
the window looking at the fire which was in the opposite 
house. The little goblin seized the marvellous book which 
was lying on the table, stuffed it into his red cap, and held 
it with both his hands ; the greatest treasure in the house 
was saved ! Then he rushed away, right out on to the 
roof to the very top of the chimney, and there he sat lighted 
up by the blaze opposite. He still held his red cap tightly 
grasped with both hands, in which the treasure was hidden. 

Now he knew the leaning of his heart, and to whom he 
really belonged ; but when the fire was out and he thought 
the matter over — why then — “ I will divide myself between 
them,” he said. “ I can’t give up the huckster, because of 
the porridge.” In this he was quite human ! We others 
go to the huckster too — for the porridge. 


The Bottle Neck 


Down in a narrow crooked street among other poverty 
stricken houses, stood a very high and narrow one, built of 
lath and plaster ; it was in a very bad state and bulged out 
in every direction. It was entirely inhabited by poor people, 
but the attic looked the poorest of all. Outside the window 
in the sunshine hung a battered bird cage, which had not 
even got a proper drinking glass, but only the neck of a 
bottle turned upside down, with a cork at the bottom to 
serve this purpose. An old maid stood at the window, she 
had just been hanging chickweed all over the cage in which 
a little linnet hopped about from perch to perch, singing as 
gaily as possible. 

“ Ah, you may well sing ! ” said the bottle neck ; but of 
course it did not say it as we should say it, for a bottle neck 
cannot talk, but it thought it within itself, much as when we 
inwardly talk to ourselves. “ Yes, you may well sing, you 
who have all your limbs whole. You should try what it is 
like to have lost the lower part of your body like me, and 
only to have a neck and a mouth, and that with a cork in it, 
such as I have, and you wouldn’t sing much. I have noth- 
ing to make me sing, nor could I if I would. But it is a 
good thing that somebody is pleased. I could have sung 
when I was a whole bottle and anyone rubbed me with a 
cork. I used to be called the real lark then, the big lark ; 
and then I went to the picnic in the wood, with the furrier 
and his family, and his daughter was engaged — yes, I re- 
member it as well as if it had been yesterday. I have had 
no end of experiences when I begin to look back upon 
them. I have been through fire and water, and down into 
the black earth, and higher up than most people, and now I 
hang in the sunshine outside a bird cage. It might be worth 
while to listen to my story, but I don’t speak very loud 
about it, for I can’t.” 

Then it related within itself, or thought out its story 

83 


84 The Bottle Neck 

inwardly. It was a curious enough story ; the little bird 
twittered away happily enough, and down in the street 
people walked and drove as usual, all bent upon their own 
concerns, thinking about them, or about nothing at all ; but 
not so the bottle neck. It recalled the glowing smelting 
furnace in the factory, where it had been blown into life. 
It still remembered feeling quite warm, and gazing longingly 
into the roaring furnace, its birth-place ; and its great desire 
to leap back again into it. But little by little as it cooled, 
it began to feel quite comfortable where it was. It was 
standing in a row with a whole regiment of brothers and 
sisters, all from the same furnace, but some were blown into 
champagne bottles, and others into beer bottles, which 
makes all the difference in their after life ! Later, when out 
in the world, a beer bottle may certainly contain the costliest 
Lacrimae Christe, and a champagne bottle may be filled with 
blacking ; but what one is born to may be seen in the struc- 
ture. Nobility is nobility even if it has black blood in its 
veins ! 

All the bottles were soon packed up and our bottle with 
them. It never dreamt then of ending its days as a bottle 
neck serving as a drinking glass for a bird ; but after all that 
is an honourable position, so one is something after all. It 
first saw the light again, when with its other companions it 
was unpacked in the wine merchant’s cellar. Its first rinsing 
was a peculiar experience. Then it lay empty and corkless, 
and felt curiously flat, it missed something, but did not 
know exactly what it was. Next it was filled with some 
good strong wine, was corked and sealed, and last of all it 
was labelled outside “first quality.” This was just as if it 
had passed first class in an examination, but of course the 
wine was really good and so was the bottle. While one is 
young one is a poet ! Something within it sang and rejoiced, 
something which it really knew nothing at all about ; green 
sunlit slopes where the vine grew, merry girls and jovial 
youths singing and kissing each other. Ah, life is a heavenly 
thing ! All this stirred and worked within the bottle just as 
it does in young poets, who very often know no more about 
it than the bottle. 

At last one morning the bottle was bought by the furrier’s 
apprentice; he was sent for a bottle of the best wine. It 
was packed up in the luncheon basket together with the 
ham, the cheese and the sausage ; the basket also contained 


The Bottle Neck 85 

butter of the best, and various fancy breads. The furrier’s 
daughter packed it herself, she was quite young and very 
pretty. She had laughing brown eyes, and a smile on her 
lips ; her hands were soft and delicate and very white, yet 
not so white as her neck and bosom. It was easy to see 
that she was one of the town beauties, and yet she was not 
engaged. She held the provision basket on her lap during 
the drive to the wood. The neck of the bottle peeped out 
beyond the folds of the table cloth. There was red sealing 
wax on the cork, and it looked straight up into the maiden’s 
face ; and it also looked at the young sailor who sat beside 
her, he was a friend of her childhood, the son of a portrait 
painter. He had just passed his examination for promotion 
with honour, and was to sail next day as mate on a long 
trip to foreign parts. There had been a good deal of talk 
about this journey during the packing, and while it was 
going on the expression in the eyes and on the mouth of the 
pretty girl had been anything but cheerful. The two young 
people walked together in the wood, and talked to each 
other. What did they talk about ? Well the bottle did not 
hear their conversation, for it was in the luncheon basket. 
It was a very long time before it was taken out, but when 
this did occur, it was evident that something pleasant had 
taken place. Everybody’s eyes were beaming, and the 
furrier’s daughter was laughing, but she talked less than the 
others, and her cheeks glowed like two red roses. 

Father took up the bottle and the cork-screw — it was a 
curious sensation for the cork to be drawn from the bottle 
for the first time. The bottle neck never afterwards forgot 
the solemn moment when the cork flew out with a “kloop” 
and it gurgled when the wine flowed out of it into the 
glasses. 

“The health of the betrothed,” said father, and every 
glass was drained, while the young sailor kissed his lovely 
bride. 

“ Health and happiness ! 11 said both the old people. The 
young man filled the glasses again and drank to the “home- 
coming and the wedding this day year.” When the glasses 
were emptied, he took the bottle and held it up above his 
head. “ You have shared my happiness to-day, and you 
shall serve nobody else, saying which he threw it up into the 
air. The furrier’s daughter little thought she was ever to 
see it again ; however this was to come to pass. It fell 


86 The Bottle Neck 

among the rushes by a little woodland lake. The bottle 
neck remembered distinctly how it lay there thinking over 
these events. “ I gave them wine, and they gave me swamp 
water in return, but they meant it well.” It could no longer 
see the betrothed pair or the joyous old people, but it could 
hear them for a long time gaily talking and singing. After 
a time two little peasant boys came along peering among 
the reeds where they saw the bottle and took it away with 
them, so it was provided for. At home in the forester’s 
cottage where they lived, their eldest brother who was a 
sailor had been yesterday to take leave of them, as he was 
starting on a long voyage. Mother was now packing up a 
bundle of his things which father was to take to the town in 
the evening, when he went to see his son once more, and to 
take his mother’s last greeting. A little bottle had already 
been filled with spiced brandy, and was just being put into 
the bundle when the two boys came in with the other larger 
bottle they had found. This one would hold so much more 
than the little one, and this was all the better for it was such 
a splendid cure for a chill. It was no longer red wine like 
the last which was put into the bottle but bitter drops; 
however, these were good too — for the stomach. The large 
new bottle was to go and not the little one ; so once more 
the bottle started on a new journey. It was taken on board 
the ship to Peter Jensen, and it was the very same ship in 
which the young mate was to sail. But the mate did not 
see the bottle, and even if he had he would not have known 
it, nor would he ever have thought that it was the one out 
of which they had drunk to his home-coming. 

Certainly it no longer contained wine, but there was some- 
thing just as good in it. Whenever Peter Jensen brought it 
out, his shipmates dubbed it, “ the apothecary.” It contained 
good physic, and cured all their complaints as long as there 
was a drop left in it. It was a very pleasant time, and the 
bottle used to sing whenever it was stroked with a cork, so 
they christened it “Peter Jensen’s lark.” 

A long time passed and it stood in a corner empty, when 
something happened — whether it was on the outward or the 
homeward journey, the bottle did not know, for it had not 
been ashore. 

A storm rose, great waves dark and heavy poured over the 
vessel and tossed it up and down. The masts were broken 
and one heavy sea sprang a leak ; the pumps refused to 


The Bottle Neck 87 

work, and it was a pitch dark night. The ship sank, but at 
the last moment the young mate wrote upon a scrap of paper, 
“In the name of Jesus, we are going down!” He wrote 
the name of his bride, his own, and that of the ship, put the 
paper into an empty bottle he saw, hammered in the cork, 
and threw it out into the boiling seething waters. He did 
not know that it was the very bottle from which he had 
poured the draught of joy and hope for her and for himself. 
Now it swayed up and down upon the waves with farewells 
and a message of death. 

The ship sank, and the crew with it, but the bottle floated 
like a bird, for it had a heart in it you know — a lover’s letter. 
The sun rose and the sun set and looked to the bottle just 
like the glowing furnace in its earliest days, when it had a 
longing to leap back again. It went through calms and 
storms : it never struck against any rock, nor was it ever 
followed by sharks ; it drifted about for more than a year 
and a day, first towards north and then towards south, just 
as the current drove it. It was otherwise entirely its own 
master, but one may get tired even of that. 

The written paper, the last farewell from the bridegroom 
to the bride, could only bring grief, if it ever came into the 
right hands ; but where were those hands, the ones which 
had shone so white when they spread the cloth upon the 
fresh grass in the green woods on the day of the betrothal ? 
Where was the furrier’s daughter? Nay, where was the land, 
and which land lay nearest ? All this the bottle knew not ; 
it drifted and drifted, till at last it was sick of drifting about ; 
it had never been its own intention, but all the same it had 
to drift till at last it reached land — a strange land. It did 
not understand a word that was said ; it was not the language 
it was accustomed to hear, and one loses much if one does, 
not understand the language. 

The bottle w T as picked up and looked at, the bit of paper 
inside was inspected, turned and twisted, but they did not 
understand what was written on it. They saw that the 
bottle had been thrown overboard, and that something about 
it was written on the paper, but what it was, this was the 
remarkable part. So it was put into the bottle again, and 
this was put into a large cupboard in a large room in a large 
house. 

Every time a stranger came the slip of paper was taken 
out, turned and twisted, so that the writing which was only 
a 


88 The Bottle Neck 

in pencil became more and more illegible. At last it was 
impossible even to make out the letters. The bottle stood 
in the cupboard for another year, then it was put into the 
lumber-room, where it was soon hidden with dust and 
spiders’ webs ; then it used to think of the better days when 
it poured forth red wine in the wood, and when it danced 
on the waves and carried a secret, a letter, a farewell sigh 
w'ithin it. 

Now it stood in the attic for twenty years, and it might 
have stood there longer, if the house had not been rebuilt. 
The roof was torn off, the bottle was seen and remarked 
upon, but it did not understand the language; one does not 
learn that by standing in a lumber-room, even for twenty 
years. “ Had I remained downstairs,” it thought indeed, 
“ I should have learnt it fast enough ! ” 

Now it was washed and thoroughly rinsed out, a process 
which it sorely needed; it became quite clear and trans- 
parent, and felt youthful again in its old age. The slip of 
paper it had contained within it so long had vanished in the 
rinsing. 

The bottle was filled with seed corn, a sort of thing it 
knew nothing at all about. Then it was well corked and 
wrapped up tightly, so that it could neither see the light of 
lantern or candle, far less the sun or the moon — and one 
really ought to see something when one goes on a journey, 
thought the bottle. However, it saw nothing, but it did the 
most important thing required of it ; that w^as to arrive at its 
destination, and there it was unpacked. 

“What trouble these foreigners have taken with it !” was 
said, “ but I daresay it is cracked all the same.” However, 
it w r as not cracked. The bottle understood every single 
word that was said, it was all spoken in the language it had 
heard at the smelting furnace, at the wine merchant’s, in the 
wood, and on board ship — the one and only good old 
language which it thoroughly understood. It had come 
borne again to its own country, where it had a hearty 
'welcome in the language. It nearly sprang out of the 
people’s hands from very joy; it hardly noticed the cork 
being drawn. Then it was well shaken to empty it, and put 
away in the cellar to be kept and also forgotten. There is 
no place like home, even if it be a cellar. It never occurred 
to the bottle to think how long it lay there, but it lay there 
comfortably for many years ; then one day some people 


The Bottle Neck 89 

came down and took away all the bottles and it among 
them. 

In the garden outside everything was very festive. There 
were festoons of lamps and transparent paper lanterns like 
tulips. It was a clear and lovely evening ; the stars shone 
brightly, and the slim crescent of the new moon was just 
up ; in fact, the whole moon, like a pale grey globe, was 
visible with a golden rim to the half of it. It was a beautiful 
sight for good eyes. 

There were also some illuminations in the side-paths, 
enough, at any rate, to see one’s way about. Bottles were 
placed at intervals in the hedges, each with a lighted candle 
in it, and among them stood our bottle too, the one we 
know, which was to end its days as a bottle neck for a bird’s 
drinking fountain. Everything here appeared lovely to the 
bottle, for it was once again in the green wood and taking 
part once more in merry-making and gaiety. It heard 
music and singing once again, and the hum and buzz of 
many people, especially from that corner of the garden 
where the lanterns shone and the paper lamps gave their 
coloured light. The bottle was only placed in one of the 
side walks, but even there it had food for reflection. There 
it stood bearing its light aloft; it was being of some use as 
well as giving pleasure, and that was the right thing — in 
such an hour one forgets all about the twenty years passed 
in an attic — and it is good sometimes to forget. 

A couple of persons passed close by it, arm in arm, like 
the betrothed pair in the woods, the sailor and the furrier’s 
daughter. The bottle felt as if it were living its life over 
again. The guests walked about in the garden, and other 
people too, who had come to look at them and at the illumina- 
tions. Among them there was an old maid who was without 
kith or kin, but not friendless. She was thinking of the 
very same thing as the bottle ; of the green wood and of a 
young pair very dear to her, as she herself was one of them. 
It had been her happiest hour, and that one never forgets, 
however old a spinster one may be. But she did not know 
the bottle, and it did not know her again ; thus people pass 
one another in the world — till one meets again like these two 
who were now in the same town. 

The bottle was taken from the garden to the wine 
merchant’s, where it was again filled with wine and sold to 
an aeronaut who next Sunday was to make an ascent in a 


go The Bottle Neck 

balloon. A crowd of people came to look on ; there was a 
regimental band and many preparations. The bottle saw 
everything from a basket, where it lay in company with a 
living rabbit, which was much depressed, for it knew it was 
being taken up to be sent down in a parachute. The bottle 
knew nothing at all about it ; it only saw that the balloon 
was being distended to a great size, and when it could not 
get any bigger it began to rise higher and higher, and to 
become very restive. The ropes which held it were then 
cut, and it ascended with the aeronaut, basket, bottle and 
rabbit. There was a grand clashing of music, and the 
people shouted “ Hurrah ! ” 

“ It is a curious sensation to go up into the air like this ! ” 
thought the bottle. “ It’s a new kind of sailing, and there 
can’t be any danger of a collision up here ! ” 

Several thousands of persons watched the balloon, and 
among them the old maid. She stood by her open window, 
where the cage hung with the little linnet, which at that 
time had no drinking fountain, but had to content itself 
with a cup. A myrtle stood in a pot in the window, and it 
was moved a little to one side so as not to be knocked over 
when the old maid leant out to look at the balloon. She 
could see the aeronaut quite plainly when he let the rabbit 
down in the parachute; then he drank the health of the 
people, after which he threw the bottle high up into the 
air. Little did she think that she had seen the same bottle 
fly into the air above her and her lover on that happy day in 
the woods in her youth. The bottle had no time to think, 
it was so taken by surprise at finding itself suddenly thus at 
the zenith of its career. The church steeples and house- 
tops lay far, far below, and the people looked quite tiny. 
The bottle sank with far greater rapidity than the rabbit, 
and on the way it turned several somersaults in the air; it 
felt so youthful, [so exhilarated — it was half-drunk with the 
wine — but not for long did it feel so. What a journey it 
had! The sun shone upon the bottle, and all the people 
watched its flight; the balloon was already far away, and 
the bottle was soon lost to sight too. It fell upon a roof, 
where it was smashed to pieces, but there was such an 
impetus on the bits that they could not lie where they fell; 
they jumped and rolled till they reached the yard, where 
they lay in still smaller bits ; only the neck was whole, and 
that might have been cut off with a diamond. 


The Bottle Neck 91 

“ That would do very well for a bird’s drinking fountain!” 
said the man who lived in the basement ; but he had 
neither bird nor cage, and it would have been too much to 
procure these merely because he had found a bottle neck 
which would do for a drinking fountain. The old maid in 
ihe attic might find a use for it, so the bottle neck found its 
way up there. It had a cork put into it, and what had 
been the top became the bottom, in the way changes often 
take place ; fresh water was put into it and it was hung 
outside the cage of the little bird which sang so merrily. 

“ Yes, you may well sing ! ” was what the bottle neck 
said ; and it was looked upon as a very remarkable one for 
it had been up in a balloon. Nothing more was known of its 
history. There it hung now as a drinking fountain, where it 
could hear the roll and the rumble in the streets below, and 
it could also hear the old maid talking in the room. She 
had an old friend with her, and they were talking, not 
about the bottle neck, but about the myrtle in the window. 

“ You must certainly not spend five shillings on a bridal 
bouquet for your daughter,” said the old maid. “ I will 
give you a beauty covered with blossom. Do you see 
how beautifully my myrtle is blooming. Why it is a 
cutting from the plant you gave me on the day after my 
betrothal ; the one I was to have had for my bouquet when 
the year was out — the day which never came ! Before then 
the eyes which would have gladdened and cherished me in 
this life were closed. He sleeps sweetly in the depths of the 
ocean — my beloved ! The tree grew old, but I grew older, 
and when it drooped I took the last fresh branch and 
planted it in the earth where it has grown to such a big 
plant. So it will take part in a wedding after all and 
furnish a bouquet for your daughter! ° There were tears in 
the old maid’s eyes as she spoke of her betrothal in the 
wood, and of the beloved of her youth. She thought about 
the toasts which had been drunk, and about the first kiss — 
but of these she did not speak, was she not an old maid ! 
Of all the thoughts that came into her mind, this one never 
came, that just outside her window was a relic of those days, 
the neck of the bottle out of which the cork came with a 
pop when it was drawn on the betrothal day. The bottle 
neck did not recognise her either, in fact it was not listening 
to her conversation, partly, if not entirely, because it was 
only thinking about itself. 


The Steadfast Tin Soldier 

There were once five and twenty tin soldiers, all brothers, 
for they were the offspring of the same old tin spoon. 
Each man shouldered his gun, kept his eyes well to the 
front, and wore the smartest red and blue uniform imagin- 
able. The first thing they heard in their new world, when 
the lid was taken off the box, was a little boy clapping his 
hands and crying, “ Soldiers, soldiers ! ” It was his birthday 
and they had just been given to him ; so he lost no time 
in setting them up on the table. All the soldiers were 
exactly alike with one exception, and he differed from the 
rest in having only one leg. For he was made last, and 
there was not quite enough tin left to finish him. However, 
he stood just as well on his one leg, as the others on two, in 
fact he is the very one who is to become famous. On the 
table where they were being set up, were many other toys ; 
but the chief thing which caught the eye was a delightful 
paper castle. You could see through the tiny windows, 
right into the rooms. Outside there were some little trees 
surrounding a small mirror, representing a lake, whose 
surface reflected the waxen swans which were swimming 
about on it. It was altogether charming, but the prettiest 
thing of all was a little maiden standing at the open door of 
the castle. She, too, was cut out of paper, but she wore a 
dress of the lightest gauze, with a dainty little blue ribbon over 
her shoulders, by way of a scarf, set off by a brilliant spangle, 
as big as her whole face. The little maid was stretching out 
both arms, for she was a dancer, and in the dance, one of 
her legs was raised so high into the air that the tin soldier 
could see absolutely nothing of it, and supposed that she, 
like himself, had but one leg. 

“ That would be the very wife for me ! ” he thought ; 
“ but she is much too grand ; she lives in a palace, while I 
only have a box, and then there are five and twenty of us to 
share it. No, that would be no place for her ! but I must 

92 


The Steadfast Tin Soldier 93 

try to make her acquaintance ! ” Then he lay down full 
length behind a snuff box, which stood on the table. From 
that point he could have a good look at the little lady, 
who continued to stand on one leg without losing her 
balance. 

Late in the evening the other soldiers were put into their 
box, and the people of the house went to bed. Now was 
the time for the toys to play ; they amused themselves with 
paying visits, fighting battles, and giving balls. The tin 
soldiers rustled about in their box, for they wanted to join 
the games, but they could not get the lid off. The nut- 
crackers turned somersaults, and the pencil scribbled 
nonsense on the slate. There was such a noise that the 
canary woke up and joined in, but his remarks were in 
verse. The only two who did not move were the tin 
soldier and the little dancer. She stood as stiff as ever on 
tip-toe, with her arms spread out : he was equally firm on 
his one leg, and he did not take his eyes off her for a 
moment. 

Then the clock struck twelve, when pop ! up flew the 
lid of the snuff box, but there was no snuff in it, no ! 
There was a little black goblin, a sort of Jack-in-the- 
box. 

“ Tin soldier ! ” said the goblin, “ have the goodness to 
keep your eyes to yourself.” 

But the tin soldier feigned not to hear. 

“ Ah ! you just wait till to-morrow,” said the goblin. 

In the morning when the children got up they put the 
tin soldier on the window frame, and, whether it was caused 
by the goblin or by a puff of wind, I do not know, but all at 
once the window burst open, and the soldier fell head fore- 
most from the third storey. 

It was a terrific descent, and he landed at last, with his 
leg in the air, and rested on his cap, with his bayonet fixed 
between two paving stones. The maid-servant and the 
little boy ran down at once to look for him ; but although 
they almost trod on him, they could not see him. Had the 
soldier only called out, “ here I am,” they would easily have 
found him, but he did not think it proper to shout when he 
was in uniform. 

Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and 
faster, till there was a regular torrent. When it was over 
two street boys came along. 


94 The Steadfast Tin Soldier 

“Look out!” said one; “there is a tin soldier! He 
shall go for a sail.” 

So they made a boat out of a newspaper and put the 
soldier into the middle of it, and he sailed away down the 
gutter ; both boys ran alongside clapping their hands. 
Good heavens ! what waves there were in the gutter, and 
what a current, but then it certainly had rained cats and 
dogs. The paper boat danced up and down, and now and 
then whirled round and round. A shudder ran through the 
tin soldier, but he remained undaunted, and did not move a 
muscle, only looked straight before him with his gun 
shouldered. All at once the boat drifted under a long 
wooden tunnel, and it became as dark as it was in his box. 

“ Where on earth am I going to now ! ” thought he. “ Well, 
well, it is all the fault of that goblin ! Oh, if only the little 
maiden were with me in the boat it might be twice as dark 
for all I should care ! ” 

At this moment a big water rat, who lived in the tunnel, 
came up. 

“Have you a pass?” asked the rat. “Hand up your 
pass ! ” 

The tin soldier did not speak, but clung still tighter to his 
gun. The boat rushed on, the rat close behind. Phew, 
how he gnashed his teeth and shouted to the bits of stick 
and straw. 

“Stop him, stop him, he hasn’t paid his toll! he hasn’t 
shewn his pass ! ” 

But the current grew stronger and stronger, the tin soldier 
could already see daylight before him at the end of the 
tunnel; but he also heard a roaring sound, fit to strike 
terror to the bravest heart. Just imagine ! Where the 
tunnel ended the stream rushed straight into the big canal. 
That would be just as dangerous for him as it would be for 
us to shoot a great rapid. 

He was so near the end now that it was impossible to stop. 
The boat dashed out ; the poor tin soldier held himself as 
stiff as he could; no one should say of him that he even 
winced. 

The boat swirled round three or four times, and filled with 
water to the edge ; it must sink. The tin soldier stood up 
to his neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper. 
The paper became limper and limper, and at last the water 
went over his head — then he thought of the pretty little 


The Steadfast Tin Soldier 95 

dancer, whom he was never to see again, and this refrain 
rang in his ears : 

“ Onward ! Onward ! Soldier ! 

For death thou canst not shun.” 

At last the paper gave way entirely and the soldier fell 
through — but at the same moment he was swallowed by a 
big fish. 

Oh ! how dark it was inside the fish, it was worse than 
being in the tunnel even; and then it was so narrow ! But 
the tin soldier was as dauntless as ever, and lay full length, 
shouldering his gun. 

The fish rushed about and made the most frantic move- 
ments. At last it became quite quiet, and after a time, a 
flash like lightning pierced it. The soldier was once more 
in the broad daylight, and some one called out loudly, “a 
tin soldier ! The fish had been caught, taken to market, sold, 
and brought into the kitchen, where the cook cut it open 
with a large knife. She took the soldier up by the waist, 
with two fingers, and carried him into the parlour, where 
everyone wanted to see the wonderful man, who had 
travelled about in the stomach of a fish ; but the tin soldier 
was not at all proud. They set him up on the table, and, 
wonder of wonders ! he found himself in the very same 
room that he had been in before. He saw the very same 
children, and the toys were still standing on the table, as well 
as the beautiful castle with the pretty little dancer. 

She still stood on one leg, and held the other up in the 
air. You see she also was unbending. The soldier was so 
much moved that he was ready to shed tears of tin, but that 
would not have been fitting. He looked at her, and she 
looked at him, but they said never a word. At this moment 
one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and without 
rhyme or reason, threw him into the fire. No doubt the 
little goblin in the snuff box was to blame for that. The 
tin soldier stood there, lighted up by the flame, and in the 
most horrible heat ; but whether it was the heat of the real 
fire, or the warmth of his feelings, he did not know. He had 
lost all his gay colour; it might have been from his perilous 
journey, or it might have been from grief, who can tell ? 

He looked at the little maiden, and she looked at him ; 
and he felt that he was melting away, but he still managed 
to keep himself erect, shouldering his gun bravely. 

A door was suddenly opened, the draught caught the little 


g6 The Steadfast Tin Soldier 

dancer and she fluttered like a sylph, straight into the fire, 
to the soldier, blazed up and was gone ! 

By this time the soldier was reduced to a mere lump, and 
when the maid took away the ashes next morning she found 
him, in the shape of a small tin heart. All that was left of 
the dancer was her spangle, and that was burnt as black as 
a coal. 





The Angel 

Every time a good child dies, an Angel of God comes down 
to earth, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads his great 
white wings and flies with it to all the places the child had 
loved during his life. Then the angel plucks a handful of 
flowers which they carry with them up to God, there to 
bloom more brightly than ever upon earth. The good God 
presses all the flowers to His bosom, but those which He 
loves best He kisses, and in kissing them gives them voices, 
so that they can join in the great song of everlasting praise. 
Now all this was told by an angel as he carried a dead child 
away to Heaven, and the child listened as in a dream ; then 
they soared over all those places in its home where the little 
one used to play, and they passed through gardens full of 
flowers. 

il Which one shall we take with us to plant in Heaven ? ” 
asked the angel. 

Close by stood a tall slender rose-bush, but an evil hand 
had broken the stem and all the branches full of large half 
open buds hung withering from it. 

“ That poor bush ! ” said the child ; “ take it so that it may 
bloom up there in God’s garden/’ 

The angel took it and kissed the child for its thought, and 
the little one half opened its eyes. They also plucked some 
gorgeous flowers, but did not forget the despised marigolds 
and pansies. 

“Now we have enough flowers,” said the child, and the 
angel nodded but still they did not rise to Heaven. It 
was night, and very still ; they remained in the great 
town, and hovered over one of the narrowest streets 
which was encumbered with heaps of straw, a'Sh, and 
refuse of all kinds. It was just after quarter-day, and there 
had been various removals in the street, and bits of broken 
crockery, rags, and old hats were scattered about in every 

97 


98 The Angel 

direction, in fact everything which was unpleasing to the 
eye. 

Among all the rubbish, the angel pointed to a broken 
flower pot and a few lumps of earth only held together by 
the roots of a large withered wild flower. It was no use 
and had therefore been thrown out of the window. 

“ We will take that with us,” said the angel ; “ I will tell 
you about it as we fly along.” 

So as they flew’ the angel told this story. 

“ Down in that narrow street, in one of the dark cellars, 
lived a poor sick boy ; he had been bed-ridden ever since 
he was quite small. When he was at his best, he could 
just hobble once or twice up and down the room on 
crutches ; that was all. For a few days in summer the 
sunbeams shone into the front room, for half an hour or so. 
The little boy would sit here warming himself in the sun- 
beams, and looking at the red blood in his thin transparent 
fingers when he held them up before his face. Then it 
was said, ‘ he has been out to-day.’ All he knew of the 
woods in the first freshness of spring was when a neighbour’s 
son brought him home a few beech branches. These he held 
above his head, and dreamt that he was sitting under the 
beech trees where the sun shone and the birds sang. One 
day the boy also brought him some wild flowers, and among 
them, by chance, was one with a root. So it was planted 
in a pot, and put in the window near his bed. The flower 
was planted by a loving hand, and it grew, put out new 
shoots, and for several years it bore fine flowers. It was 
a lovely garden to the sick boy and his greatest treasure 
on earth. He watered and tended it, and saw that it got 
every sunbeam it could as long as a ray could reach the low 
window. It grew into his dreams, it flowered for him, and 
for him it spread around its fragrance and gladdened his 
eyes ; towards it he turned in death when his Heavenly 
Father called him. He has had his place in the presence 
of God now for a year, and for a year the flower has stood 
forgotten in the window where it withered, and in the re- 
moval was thrown on to the rubbish heap in the street. It 
is that poor withered flower which we have added to our 
bouquet, for it has given more pleasure than any flower in 
the Queen’s garden.” 

“ But how do you know all this ? ” asked the child in 
the angel’s arms. 


The Angel 99 

“ Because I was myself the little sick boy who used to 
hobble on crutches. I know my own flower, you may be 
sure.” 

The child opened its eyes wide and looked into the angel’s 



beautiful happy face, and at this moment they found them- 
selves in God’s Heaven, where all was joy and gladness. 
The Heavenly Father pressed the dead child to His bosom, 
and it received wings like the other angel, and they flew 
hand in hand together. And God pressed all the flowers to 


IOO 


The Angel 

His heart, but He kissed the poor withered wild flower, and 
it received a voice and joined the choir of angels who 
floated around the Almighty. Some were quite near, others 
again outside these in great circles extending to Infinity, 
but all equally happy. They all sang the glad song, great 
and small, the good child and the poor wild flower, which 
had lain upon the rubbish heap in the dark narrow street. 



The Butterfly 

The butterfly was looking out for a bride, and naturally 
he wished to select a nice one among the flowers. lie 
looked at them, sitting so quietly and discreetly upon their 
stems, as a damsel generally sits when she is not engaged ; 
but there were so many to choose among, that it became 
quite a difficult matter. The Butterfly did not relish en- 
countering difficulties, so in his perplexity he flew to the 
Daisy. She is called in France Afarguerite. He knew 
that she could “spae,” and that she did so often; for 
lovers plucked leaf after leaf from her, and with each a 
question was asked respecting the beloved : — “ Is it true 
love ? ” “ From the heart ? ” “ Love that pines ? ” “Cold 

love?” “None at all” — or some such questions. Every- 
one asks in his own language. The Butterfly came too to 
put his questions; he did not, however, pluck off the leaves 
but kissed them all one by one, with the hope of getting 
a good answer. 

"“ Sweet Marguerite Daisy,” said he, “ you are the wisest 
wife among all the flowers ; you know how to predict events. 
Tell me, shall I get this one or that ? or whom shall I get ? 
When I know, I can fly straight to the fair one, and com- 
mence wooing her.” 

But Marguerite would scarcely answer him ; she was 
vexed at his calling her “wife.” He asked a second time, 
and he asked a third time, but he could not get a word out 
of her ; so he would not take the trouble to ask any more, 
but flew away without further ado on his matrimonial 
errand. 

It was in the early spring, and there were plenty of Snow- 
drops and Crocuses. “They are very nice-looking,” said 
the Butterfly, “charming little things, but somewhat too 
juvenile.” He, like most very young men, preferred elder 
girls. Thereupon he flew to the Anemones, but they were 
rather too bashful for him ; the Violets were too enthusiastic ; 

IOI 


102 


The Butterfly 

the Tulips were too fond of show; the Jonquils were too 
plebeian ; the Linden-tree blossoms were too small, and 
they had too large a family connection ; the Apple blossoms 
were certainly as lovely as Roses to look at, but they stood 
to-day and fell off to-morrow, as the wind blew. It would 
not be worth while to enter into wedlock for so short a time, 
he thought. The Sweet-pea was the one that pleased him 
most ; she was pink and white, she was pure and delicate, 
and belonged to that class of notable girls who always look 
well, yet can make themselves useful in the kitchen. He 
was on the point of making an offer to her when at that 
moment he observed a pea-pod hanging close by, with a 
withered flower at the end of it. “ Who is that? ” he asked. 
“ My sister,” replied the Sweet-pea. “ Indeed ! then you 
will probably come to look like her, by-and-by,” screamed 
the Butterfly as he flew on. 

The Honeysuckles hung over the hedge ; they were 
extremely ladylike, but they had long faces and yellow com- 
plexions. They were not to his taste. But who was to his 
taste ? Ay ! ask him that. 

The spring had passed, the summer had passed, and 
autumn was passing too. The flowers were still clad in 
brilliant robes, but, alas ! the fresh fragrance of youth was 
gone. Fragrance was a great attraction to him, though no 
longer young himself, and there was none to be found 
among the Dahlias and Hollyhocks. 

So the Butterfly stooped down to the Wild Thyme. 

“She has scarcely any blossom, but she is altogether a 
flower herself, and all fragrance — every leaflet is full of it. 
I will take her.” 

So he began to woo forthwith. 

But the Wild Thyme stood stiff and still, and at length 
she said, “Friendship, but nothing more! I am old, and 
you are old. We may very well live for each other, but 
marry — no ! Let us not make fools of ourselves in our old 
age ! ” 

So the Butterfly got no one. He had been too long on 
the look-out, and that one should not be. The Butterfly 
became an old bachelor, as it is called. 

It was late in the autumn, and there was nothing but 
drizzling rain and pouring rain ; the wind blew coldly on the 
old willow trees till the leaves shivered and the branches 
cracked. It was not pleasant to fly about in summer 


The Butterfly 103 

clothing; this is the time, it is said, when domestic love is 
most needed. But the Butteifly flew about no more. He 
had accidentally gone within doors, where there was fire in 
the stove — yes, real summer heat. He could live, but “to 
live is not enough,” said he ; “ sunshine, freedom, and a 
little flower, one must have.” 

And he flew against the window pane, was observed, 
admired, and stuck upon a needle in a case of curiosities. 
There they could not do for him. 

“Now I am sitting on a stem, like the flowers,” said the 
Butterfly ; “ very pleasant it is not, however. It is almost like 
being married, one is tied so fast. And he tried to comfort 
himself with this reflection. 

“ That is poor comfort ! ” exclaimed the plants in the 
flower pots in the room. 

“ But one can hardly believe a plant in a flower pot,” 
thought the Butterfly ; “ they are too much among human 
beings.” 



H 


Psyche 

At the dawn of day, through the red atmosphere, shines a 
large star, morning’s clearest star ; its ray quivers upon the 
white wall, as if it would there inscribe what it had to relate 
— what in the course of a thousand years it has witnessed 
here and there on our revolving earth. 

Listen to one of its histories: — 

Lately (its lately is a century .sgo to us human beings) my 
rays watched a young artist ; it was in the territory of the 
Pope, in the capital of the world — Rome. Much has 
changed there in the flight of years, but nothing so rapidly 
as the change which takes place in the human form between 
childhood and old age. The imperial city was then, as 
now, in ruins ; fig trees and laurels grew among the fallen 
marble pillars, and over the shattered bath-chambers, with 
their gold-enamelled walls ; the Colosseum was a ruin ; the 
bells of the churches rang, incense perfumed the air, pro- 
cessions moved with lights and splendid canopies through 
the streets. The Holy Church ruled all, and art was 
patronised by it. At Rome lived the world’s great painter, 
Raphael ; there also lived the first sculptor of his age, 
Michael Angelo. The Pope himself paid homage to these 
two artists, and honoured them by his visits. Art was 
appreciated, admired, and recompensed. But even then 
not all that was great and worthy of praise was known and 
brought forward. 

In a narrow little street stood an old house; it had 
formerly been a temple, and there dwelt a young artist. He 
was poor and unknown ; however, he had a few young friends, 
artists like himself, young in mind, in hopes, in thoughts. 
They told him that he was rich in talents but that he 
was a fool, since he never would believe in his own 
powers. He always destroyed what he had formed in clay ; 
he was never satisfied with anything he did, and 
never had anything finished so as to have it seen and 


104 


Psyche 105 

known, and it was necessary to have this in order to make 
money. 

“ You are a dreamer,” they said, “and therein lies your 
misfortune. But this arises from your never having lived 
yet, not having tasted life, enjoyed it in large exhilarating 
draughts, as it ought to be enjoyed. It is only in youth 
that one can do this. Look at the great master, Raphael, 
whom the Pope honours and the world admires : he docs 
not abstain from wine and good fare.” 

“ He dines with the baker’s wife, the charming Fornarina,” 
said Angelo, one of the liveliest of the young group. 

They all talked a great deal, after the fashion of gay young 
men. They insisted on carrying the youthful artist off with 
them to scenes of amusement and riot — scenes of folly they 
might have been called — and for a moment he felt inclined 
to accompany them. His blood was warm, his fancy power- 
ful ; he could join in their jovial chat, and laugh as loud as 
any of them ; yet what they called “ Raphael’s pleasant life” 
vanished from his mind like a morning mist; he thought 
only of the inspiration that was apparent in the great master’s 
works. If he stood in the Vatican near the beautiful forms 
the masters of a thousand years before had created out of 
marble blocks, then his breast heaved ; he felt within himself 
something so elevated, so holy, so grand and good, that he 
longed to chisel such statues from the marble blocks. He 
wished to give a form to the glorious conceptions of his 
mind, but how, and what form? The soft clay that was 
moulded into beautiful figures by his fingers one day, was 
the next day, as usual, broken up. 

Once, as he was passing one of the rich palaces, of which 
there are so many at Rome, he stepped within the large 
open entrance court, and saw arched corridors adorned with 
statues, enclosing a little garden full of the most beautiful 
roses. Great white flowers, with green juicy leaves, shot up 
the marble basin, where the clear waters splashed, and near 
it glided a figure, that of a young girl, the daughter of the 
princely house — so delicate, so light, so lovely ! He had 
never beheld so beautiful a woman. Yes — painted by 
Raphael, painted as Psyche, in one of the palaces of Rome ! 
Yes — there she stood as if living ! 

She also lived in his thoughts and heart. And he hurried 
home to his humble apartment, and formed a Psyche of 
clay ; it was the rich, the high-born young Roman lady, and 


106 Psyche 

for the first time he looked with satisfaction on his work. It 
was life itself — it was herself. And his friends, when they 
saw it, were loud in their congratulations. This work was a 
proof of his excellence in art, that they had themselves 
already known, and the world should now know it also. 

Clay may look fleshy and life-like, but it has not the 
whiteness of marble’, and does not last so long. His Psyche 
must be sculptured in marble, and the expensive block of 
marble required he already possessed : it had lain for many 
years, a legacy from his parents, in the court-yard. Broken 
bottles, decayed vegetables, and all manner of refuse, had 
been heaped on it and soiled it, but within it was white as 
the mountain snow. Psyche was to be chiselled from it. 

One day it happened (the clear star tells nothing of this, 
for it did not see what passed, but we know it), a dis- 
tinguished Roman party came to the narrow humble street. 
The carriage stopped near it. The party had come to see 
the young artist’s work, of which they had heard by 
accident. And who were these aristocratic visitors ? Un- 
fortunate young man ! All too happy young man, he might 
also have been called. The young girl herself stood there 
in his studio ; and with what a smile when her father 
exclaimed, “ But it is you, you yourself to the life ! ” That 
smile could not be copied, that glance could not be imitated 
— that speaking glance which she cast on the young 
artist! It was a glance that fascinated, enchanted, and 
destroyed. 

“ The Psyche must be finished in marble,” said the rich 
nobleman. And that was a life-giving word to the inanimate 
clay and to the heavy marble block, as it was a life-giving 
word to the young man. 

“ When the work is finished, I will purchase it,” said the 
noble visitor. 

It seemed as if a new era had dawned on the humble 
studio ; joy and sprightliness enlivened it now, and ennui 
fled before constant employment. The bright morning star 
saw how quickly the work advanced. The clay itself 
become as if animated with a soul, for even in it stood forth, 
in perfect beauty, each now well-known feature. 

“Now I know what life is,” exclaimed the young artist 
joyfully ; “ it is love. There is glory in the excellent ; 
rapture in the beautiful. What my friends call life and 
enjoyment are corrupt and perishable — they are bubbles in 


Psyche 107 

the fermenting dregs, not the pure heavenly altar-wine that 
consecrates life. 

The block of marble was raised, the chisel hewed large 
pieces from it ; it was measured, pointed, and marked. The 
work proceeded ; little by little, the stone assumed 
a form of beauty — Psyche — charming as God’s creation in 
the young female. The heavy marble became life-like, 
dancing, airy, and a graceful Psyche, with the bright smile 
so heavenly and innocent, such as had mirrored itself in the 
young sculptor’s heart. 

The star of the rose-tinted morn saw it, and well under- 
stood what was stirring in the young man’s heart — under- 
stood the changing colour on his cheek, the fire in his eye — 
as he carved the likeness of what God had created. 

“You are a master, such as those in the time of the 
Greeks,” said his delighted friends. “The whole world will 
soon admire your Psyche.’’ 

“My Psyche!” he exclaimed. “Mine! yes, such she 
must be. I too am an artist like these great ones of 
by-gone days. God has bestowed on me the gift of genius, 
which raises its possession to a level with the high-born.” 

And he sank on his knees, and wept his thanks to God, 
and forgot Him for her — for her image in marble. The 
figure of Psyche stood there, as if formed of snow, blushing 
rosy red in the morning sun. 

In reality he was to see her, living, moving, her whose 
voice had sounded like the sweetest music. He was to go 
to the splendid palace, to announce that the marble Psyche 
was finished. He went thither, passed through the open 
court to where the water poured, splashing from dolphins, 
into the marble basin, around which the white flowers 
clustered, and the roses shed their fragrance. He entered 
the large lofty hall, whose walls and roof were adorned with 
armorial bearings and heraldic designs. Well-dressed, 
pompous-looking servants strutted up and down, like sleigh- 
horses with their jingling bells ; others of them, insolent- 
looking fellows, were stretched at their ease on handsomely 
carved wooden benches ; they seemed the masters of the 
house. He told his errand, and was then conducted up 
the white marble stairs, which were covered with soft 
carpets. Statues were ranged on both sides ; he passed 
through handsome rooms with pictures and bright mosaic 
floors. For a moment he felt oppressed by all this magnifi- 


io8 Psyche 

cence and splendour — it nearly took his breath away. But 
he speedily recovered himself ; for the princely owner of the 
mansion received him kindly, almost cordially, and, after 
they had finished their conversation, requested him, when 
bidding him adieu, to go to the apartments of the young 
Signora, who wished also to see him. Servants marshalled 
him through superb saloonsand suites of rooms to the chamber 
where she sat, elegantly dressed and radiant in beauty. 

She spoke to him. No Miserere , no tones of sacred 
music, could more have melted the heart and elevated the 
soul. He seized her hand, and carried it to his lips ; 
never was rose so soft. But there issued a fire from that 
rose — a fire that penetrated through him and turned his 
head ; words poured forth from his lips, which he scarcely 
knew himself, like the crater pouring forth glowing lava. 
He told her of his love. She stood amazed, offended, 
insulted, with a haughty and scornful look, an expression 
which had been called forth instantaneously by his passionate 
avowal of his sentiments towards her. Her cheeks glowed 
her lips became quite pale ; her eyes flashed fire, and were 
yet as dark as ebon night. 

“ Madman ! ” she exclaimed ; “ begone ! away ! ” And she 
turned angrily from him, while her beautiful countenance 
assumed the look of that petrified face of old with the 
serpents clustering around it like hair. 

Like a sinking, lifeless thing, he descended into the street ; 
like a sleep-walker he reached his home. But there he 
awoke to pain and fury; he seized his hammer, lifted it high 
in the air, and was on the point of breaking the beautiful 
marble statue, but in his distracted state of mind he had not 
observed that Angelo was standing near him. The latter 
caught his arm, exclaiming, “ Have you gone mad ? What 
would you do ?” 

They struggled with each other. Angelo was the 
stronger of the two, and, drawing a deep breath, the young 
sculptor threw himself on a chair. 

“ What has happened ? ” asked Angelo. “ Be yourself, and 
speak.” 

But what could he tell ? what could he say ? And when 
Angelo found that he could get nothing out of him, he gave 
up questioning him. 

“Your blood thickens in this constant dreaming. Be 
a man like the rest of us, and do not live only in the ideal : 


Psyche 109 

you will go deranged at this rate. Take wine until you feel 
it get a little into your head ; that will make you sleep well. 
Let a pretty girl be your doctor ; a girl from the Campagna 
is as charming as a princess in her marble palace. Both are 
the daughters of Eve, and not to be distinguished from 
each other in Paradise. Follow your Angelo! Let me be 
your angel, the angel of life for you ! The time will come 
when you will be old, and your limbs will be useless to you. 
Why, on a fine sunny day, when everything is laughing and 
joyous, do you look like a withered straw that can grow no 
more ? I do not believe what the priests say, that there is 
a life beyond the grave. It is a pretty fancy, a tale for 
children — pleasant enough if one could put faith in it. 
I, however, do not live in fancies only, but in the world 
of realities. Come with me ! Be a man ! ” 

And he drew him out with him ; it was easy to do so at 
that moment. There was a heat in the young artist’s blood, 
a change in his feelings ; he longed to throw off all his old 
habits, all that he was accustomed to — to throw off his own 
former self — and he consented to accompany Angelo. 

On the outskirts of Rome was a hostelry much frequented 
by artists. It was built amidst the ruins of an old bath- 
chamber; the large yellow lemons hung among their dark 
bright leaves, and adorned the greatest part of the old 
reddish-gilt walls. The hostelry was a deep vault, almost 
like a hole in the ruin. A lamp burned within it, before a 
picture of the Madonna ; a large fire was blazing in the 
stove (roasting, boiling and frying were going on there) ; on 
the outside, under lemon and laurel trees, stood two tables 
spread for refreshments. 

Kindly and joyously were the two artists welcomed by 
their friends. None of them ate much, but they all drank a 
great deal ; that caused hilarity. There was singing, and 
playing the guitar; Saltarello sounded, and the merry dance 
began. A couple of young Roman girls, models for the 
artists, joined in the dance, and took part in their mirth — 
two charming Bacchantes ! They had not, indeed, the 
delicacy of Psyche — they were not graceful, lovely roses — 
but they were fresh, ruddy, hardy carnations. 

How warm it was that day ! Warm even after the sun 
had gone down — heat in the blood, heat in the air, heat in 
every look ! The atmosphere seemed to be composed of 
gold and roses — life itself was gold and roses. 


i io Psyche 

“ Now at last you are with us ! Let yourself be borne on 
the stream around you and within you.” 

“ I never before felt so well and so joyous,” cried the 
young sculptor. “ You are right, you are all right; I was a 
fool, a visionary. Men should seek for realities, and not 
wrap themselves up in phantasies.” Amidst songs and the 
tinkling of guitars, the young men sallied forth from the 
hostelry, and took their way, in the clear starlit evening, 
through the small streets ; the two ruddy carnations, 
daughters of the Campagna, accompanied them. In Angelo’s 
room amidst sketches and folios scattered about, and glow- 
ing voluptuous paintings, their voices sounded more subdued, 
but not less full of passion. On the floor lay many a 
drawing of the Campagna’s daughters in various attractive 
attitudes : they were full of beauty, yet the originals were 
still more beautiful. The six-branched chandeliers were 
burning, and the light glared in the scene of sensual joy. 

“ Apollo ! Jupiter ! Into your heaven and happiness am 
I wafted. It seems as if the flower of life has in this 
moment sprung up in my heart.” 

Yes, it sprang up, but it broke and fell, and a deadening 
hideous sensation seized upon him. It dimmed his sight, 
stupefied his mind ! perception failed, and all became dark 
around him. 

He gained his home, and sat down on his bed, and tried 
to collect his thoughts. “Fie!” was the exclamation 
uttered by his own mouth from the bottom of his heart. 
“Wretch! begone! away!” and he breathed a sigh full of 
the deepest grief. 

“ Begone ! away ! ” These words of hers — the living 
Psyche’s words — were re-echoed in his breast, re-echoed from 
his lips. He laid his head on his pillow ; his thoughts became 
confused, and he slept. 

At the dawn of day he arose, and sat down to reflect. 
What had happened ? Had he dreamt it all — dreamt her 
words — dreamt his visit to the hostelry, and the evening 
with the flaunting carnations of the Campagna ? No, all was 
reality — a reality such as he had never before experienced. 

Through the purplish haze of the early morning shone the 
clear star; its rays fell upon him and upon the marble 
Psyche. He trembled as he gazed on the imperishable 
image ; he felt that there was impurity in his look, and he 
threw a covering over it. Once only he removed the veil to 


Psyche i i i 

touch the statue, but he could not bear to see his own 
work. 

Quiet, gloomy, absorbed in his own thoughts, he sat the 
live-long day. He noticed nothing, knew nothing of what 
was going on about him, and no one knew what was going 
on within his heart. 

Days, weeks passed ; the nights were the longest. The 
glittering star saw him one morning, pale, shaking with fever, 
arise from his couch, go to the marble figure, lift the veil 
from it, gaze for a moment with an expression of deep 
devotion and sorrow on his work, and then, almost sinking 
under its weight, he dragged the statue out into the garden. 
In it there was a dried-up, dilapidated, disused well, which 
could only be called a deep hole ; he sank this Psyche in 
it, threw in earth over it, and covered the new-made grave 
with brushwood and nettles. “Begone! away!” was the 
short funeral service. 

The star witnessed this through the rose-tinted atmosphere, 
and its ray quivered on two large tears upon the corpse-like 
cheeks of the young fever-stricken man — death-stricken they 
called him on his sick-bed. 

The monk Ignatius came to see him as a friend and 
physician — came with religious comforting words, and spoke 
to him of the Church’s happiness and peace, of the sins of 
mankind, the grace and mercy of God. 

And his words fell like warm sunbeams on the damp 
spongy ground ; it steamed, and the misty vapours ascended 
from it, so that the thoughts and mental images which had 
received their shapes from realities were cleared, and he 
was enabled to take a more just view of man’s life. The 
delusions of guilt abounded in it, and such there had been 
for him. Art was a sorceress that lured us to vanity and 
earthly lusts. We are false towards ourselves, false towards 
our friends, false towards our God. The serpent always 
repeats within us, “ Eat thereof ; then your eyes shall be opened , , 
and ye shall be as gods l ” 

Pie seemed now for the first time to understand himself, 
and to have found the way to truth and rest. On the Church 
shone light from on high ; in the monk’s cell dwelt that 
peace amidst which the human tree might grow to flourish 
in eternity. 

Brother Ignatius encouraged these sentiments, and the 
artist’s resolution was taken. A child of the world became a 


1 12 Psyche 

servant of the Church : the young sculptor bade adieu to 
all his former pursuits, and went into a monastery. 

How kindly, how gladly, was he received by the Brothers! 

What a Sunday fete was his initiation ! The Almighty, it 
seemed to him, was in the sunshine that illumined the 
church. His glory beamed from the holy images and from 
the white cross. And when he now, at the hour of the 
setting sun, stood in his little cell, and, opening the window, 
looked out over the ancient Rome, the ruined temples, the 
magnificent but dead Colosseum — when he saw all this in 
the spring-time, when the acacias were in bloom, the ever- 
greens were fresh, roses bursting from their buds, citron and 
orange-trees shining, palms waving — he felt himself tran- 
quillised and cheered as he had never been before. The 
quiet open Campagna extended towards the misty snow- 
decked hills, which seemed painted in the air. All, blended 
together, breathed of peace, of beauty, so soothingly, so 
dreamily — a dream the whole. 

Yes, the world was a dream here. A dream may continue 
for an hour, and come again at another hour ; but life in a 
cloister is a life of years, long and many. 

He might have attested the truth of this saying, that from 
within comes much which taints mankind. What was that 
fire that sometimes blazed throughout him ? What was that 
source from which evil, against his will, was always welling 
forth ? He scourged his body, but from within came the evil 
yet again. What was that spirit within him, which, with the 
pliancy of a serpent coiled itself up, and crept into his 
conscience under the cloak of universal love, and comforted 
him ? The saints pray for us, the holy mother prays for us, 
Jesus Himself has shed His blood for us. Was it weakness 
of mind or the volatile feelings of youth that caused him 
sometimes to think himself received into grace, and made 
him fancy himself exalted by that — exalted over so many ? 
For had he not cast from him the vanities of the world ? 
Was he not a son of the Church ? 

One day, after the lapse of many years, he met Angelo, 
who recognised him. 

“ Man ! ” exclaimed Angelo. “ Yes, surely it is yourself. 
Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, for you 
have thrown away His gracious gift, and abandoned your 
mission in the world. Read the parable of the confided 
talent. The Master who related it spoke the truth. What 


Psyche 113 

have you won or found ? Have you not allotted to yourself a 
life of dreams ? To your religion not a mere coinage of the 
brain? What if all be but a dream — pretty yet fantastic 
thoughts ? ” 

“ Away from me, Satan ! ” cried the monk, as he fled 
from Angelo. 

“There is a devil, a personified devil! I saw him to- 
day,” groaned the monk. “ I only held out a finger to him, 
and he seized my whole hand ! Ah, no ! ” he sighed. “In 
myself there is sin, and in that man there is sin ; but he is 
not crushed by it — he goes with brow erect, and lives in 
happiness. I seek my happiness in the consolations of 
religion. If only they were consolations — if all here, as in 
the world I left, were but pleasing thoughts ! They are 
delusions, like the crimson skies of evening, like the beautiful 
sea-blue tint on the distant hills. Close by these look 
very different. Eternity, thou art like the wide, interminable, 
calm-looking ocean : it beckons, calls us, fills us with fore- 
bodings, and if we venture on it, we sink, we disappear, die, 
cease to exist ! Delusioned ! Begone ! Away ! ” 

And tearless, lost in his own thoughts, he sat upon his 
hard pallet : then he knelt. Before whom ? The stone 
cross that stood on the wall? No, habit alone made him 
kneel there. 

And the deeper he looked into himself, the darker became 
his thoughts, “Nothing within, nothing without — a lifetime 
wasted ! ” And that cold snowball of thoughts rolled on, 
grew larger, crushed him, destroyed him. 

“To none dare I speak of the gnawing worm within me ; 
my secret is my prisoner. Yet if I could get rid of it, I 
would be Thine, O God ! ” 

And a spirit of piety awoke and struggled within him. 

“ Lord, Lord ! ” he exclaimed in his despair. “ Be merciful, 
grant me faith! I despised and abandoned Thy gracious 
gift — my mission into this world. I was wanting in strength ; 
Thou hadst not bestowed that on me. Immortal fame — 
Psyche — still lingers in my heart. Begone ! Away ! They 
shall be buried like yonder Psyche, the brightest gem of my 
life. That shall never ascend from its dark grave.” 

The star in the rose-tinted mom shone brightly — the star 
that assuredly shall be extinguished and annihilated, while 
the spirits of mankind live amidst celestial light. 

Its trembling rays fell upon the white wall, but it inscribed 


1 14 Psyche 

no memorial there of the blessed trust in God, of the grace, 
of the holy love, that dwell in the believer’s heart. 

“ Psyche within me can never die — it will live in con- 
sciousness ! Can what is inconceivable be ? Yes, yes ! 
For I myself am inconceivable. Thou art inconceivable, O 
Lord ! The whole of Thy universe is inconceivable — a work 
of power, of excellence, of love ! ” His eyes beamed with the 
brightest radiance for a moment, and then became dim and 
corpse-like. The church bells rang their funeral peal over 
him — the dead ; and he was buried in earth brought from 
Jerusalem, and mingled with the ashes of departed saints. 

Some years afterwards the skeleton was taken up, as had 
been the skeletons of the dead monks before him ; it was 
attired in the brown cowl, with a rosary in its hand, and it 
was placed in a niche among the human bones which were 
found in the burying-ground of the monastery. And the 
sun shone outside and incense perfumed the air within, and 
masses were said. 

Years again went by. 

The bones of the skeleton had fallen from each other, and 
become mixed together. The skulls were gathered and set up 
— they formed quite an outer wall to the church. There stood 
also his skull in the burning sunshine : there w r ere so many, 
many death’s heads, that no one knew now the names they 
had borne, nor his. And see ! in the sunshine there moved 
something living within the two eye-sockets. What could 
that be? A motley-coloured lizard had sprung into the 
interior of the skull, and was passing out and in through the 
large empty sockets of the eye. There was life now within 
that head, where once grand ideas, bright dreams, love of 
art, and excellence had dwelt — from whence hot tears had 
rolled, and where had lived the hope of immortality. The 
lizard sprang forth and vanished ; the skull mouldered away 
and became dust in dust. 

It was a century from that time. The clear star shone 
unchanged, as brightly and beautifully as a thousand years 
before ; the dawn of day was red, fresh, and blushing as a 
rose-bud. 

Where once had been a narrow street, with the ruins of 
an ancient temple, stood now a convent. A grave was to be 
dug in the garden fora young nun had died, and at an early 
hour in the morning she was to be buried. In digging the 
grave the spade knocked against a stone. Dazzling white 


Psyche 115 

it appeared — the pure marble became visible. A round 
shoulder first presented itself; the spade was used more 
cautiously, and a female head was soon discovered, and then 
the wings of a butterfly. From the grave in which the 
young nun was to be laid, they raised, in the red 
morning light, a beautiful statue — Psyche carved in 
the finest marble. “ How charming it is ! how perfect ! 
— an exquisite work, from the most glorious period 
of art ! ” it was said. Who could have been the sculptor ? 
No one knew that — none knew him except the clear star 
that had shone for a thousand years ; it knew his earthly 
career, his trials, his weakness. But he was dead, returned 
to the dust. Yet the result of his greatest effort, the most 
admirable, which proved his vast genius — Psyche — that 
never can die ; that might outlive fame. That was seen, ap- 
preciated, admired, and loved. 

The clear star in the rosy-streaked morn seals its glitter- 
ing ray upon Psyche, and upon the delighted countenances 
of the admiring beholders, who saw a Soul created in the 
marble block. 

All that is earthly returns to earth, and is forgotten ; only 
the star in the infinite vault of heaven bears it in remem- 
brance. What is heavenly retains renown from its own 
excellence ; and when even renown shall fade, Psyche shall 
still live. 



The Snail and the Rose-bush 


Around a garden was a fence of hazel-bushes, and beyond 
that were fields and meadows, with cows and sheep ; but in 
the centre of the garden stood a Rose-bush in full bloom. 
Under it lay a Snail, who had a great deal in him, according 
to himself. “Wait till my time comes,” said he; “I shall 
do a great deal more than to yield roses, or to bear nuts, or 
to give milk as cows do.” 

“ I expect an immense deal from you,” said the Rose-bush. 
“May I ask when it is to come forth?” 

“I shall take my time,” replied the Snail. “You are 
always in such a hurry with your work, that curiosity about 
it is never excited.” 

The following year the Snail lay, almost in the same spot 
as formerly, in the sunshine under the Rose-bush ; it was 
already in bud, and the buds had begun to expand into full- 
blown flowers, always fresh, always new. And the Snail 
crept half out, stretched forth its feelers, and then drew them 
in again. 

“ Everything looks just the same as last year ; there is no 
progress to be seen anywhere. The Rose-bush is covered 
with roses — it will never get beyond that.” 

The summer passed, the autumn passed; the Rose-bush 
had yielded roses and buds up to the time that the snow 
fell. The weather became wet and tempestuous, the Rose- 
bush bowed down towards the ground, the Snail crept into 
the earth. 

A new year commenced, the Rose-bush revived, and the 
Snail came forth again. 

“You are now only an old stick of a Rose-bush,” said he; 
“you must expect to wither away soon. You have given 
the world all that was in you. Whether that were worth 
much or not, is a question I have not time to take into 
consideration ; but this is certain, that you have not done 
the least for your own improvement, else something very 


The Snail and the Rose-bush 117 

different might have been produced by you. Can you deny 
this? You will soon become only a bare stick. Do you 
understand what I say ? ” 

“ You alarm me,” cried the Rose-bush. “ I never thought 
of this.” 

“ No, you have never troubled yourself with thinking 
much. But have you not occasionally reflected why you 
blossomed, and in what way you blossomed— how in one 
way and not in another?” 

“No,” answered the Rose-bush ; “I blossomed in glad- 
ness, for I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, 
the air so refreshing; I drank of the clear dew and the 
heavy rain ; I breathed — I lived ! There came up from the 
ground a strength to me, there came a strength from above. 
I experienced a degree of pleasure, always new, always great, 
and I was obliged to blossom. It was my life ; I could not 
do otherwise.” 

“ You have had a very easy life,” remarked the Snail. 

“To be sure, much has been granted to me,” said the 
Rose-bush, “but no more will be bestowed on me now. 
You have one of those meditative, deeply thinking minds, 
one so endowed that you will astonish the world.” 

“ I have by no means any such design,” said the Snail. 
“ The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the 
world ? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in 
myself.” 

“ But should we not in this earth all give our best assist- 
ance to others — contribute what we can? Yes! I have 
only been able to give roses ; but you — you who have got 
so much — what have you given to the world ? What will you 
give it ? ” 

“ What have I given? What will I give? I spit upon it ! 
It is good for nothing ! I have no interest in it. Produce 
your roses — you cannot do more than that — let the hazel 
bushes bear nuts, let the cows give milk ! You have each of 
you your public ; I have mine within myself. I am going 
into myself, and shall remain there. The world is nothing 
to me.” 

And so the Snail withdrew into his house, and closed it 
up. 

“What a sad pity it is !” exclaimed the Rose-bush. “/ 
cannot creep into shelter, however much I might wish it. I 
must ahvays spring out, spring out into roses. The leaves 


n8 The Snail and the Rose-bush 

fall off, and they fly away on the wind. But I saw one of 
the roses laid in a psalm-book belonging to the mistress of 
the house ; another of my roses was placed on the breast of 
a young and beautiful girl, and another was kissed by a 
child’s soft lips in an ecstasy of joy. I was so charmed at 
all this : it was a real happiness to me — one of the pleasant 
remembrances of my life.” 

And the Rose-bush bloomed on in innocence, while the 
Snail retired into his slimy house — the world was nothing 
to him ! 

Years flew on. 

The Snail had returned to earth, the Rose-bush had re- 
turned to earth ; also the dried rose-leaf in the psalm-book 
had disappeared, but new rose-bushes bloomed in the garden, 
and new snails were there; they crept into their houses, 
spitting — the world was nothing to them ! 

Shall we read their history too? It would not be different. 




The Girl who trod on a Loaf 

I daresay you have heard of the girl who stepped on a 
loaf, so as not to soil her shoes, and all the misfortunes that 
befel her in consequence. At any rate the story has been 
written and printed too. 

She was a poor child, of a proud and arrogant nature, and 
her disposition was bad from the beginning. When she 
was quite tiny, her greatest delight was to catch flies and 
puli their wings off, to make creeping insects of them. 
Then she would catch chafers and beetles and stick them 
on a pin, after which she would push a leaf or a bit of 
paper close enough for them to seize with their feet; for 
the pleasure of seeing them writhe and wriggle in their 
efforts to free themselves from the pins. 

“The chafer is reading now,” said little Inger; “ look at 
it turning over the page ! ” 

She got worse rather than better as she grew older; but 
she was very pretty and that no doubt was her misfortune, 
or she might have had many a beating which she never 
got. 

“ It will take a heavy blow to bend that head,” said her 
own mother. “ As a child you have often trampled on my 

1 19 


1 


120 The Girl who trod on a Loaf 

apron, I fear when you are grown up you will trample on my 
heart ! ” 

This she did with a vengeance. 

She was sent into service in the country with some rich 
people. They treated her as if she had been their own 
child, and dressed her in the same style. She grew prettier 
and prettier, but her pride grew too. 

When she had been with them a year, her employers 
said to her, “You ought to go home to see your parents, 
little Inger ! ” 

So she went, but she went to show herself only, so that 
they might see how grand she was. When she got to the 
town gates, and saw the young men and maids gossiping 
round the pond, and her mother sitting among them with a 
bundle of sticks she had picked up in the woods, Inger 
turned away. She was ashamed that one so fine as herself 
should have such a ragged old woman who picked up sticks 
for her mother. She was not a bit sorry that she had 
turned back, only angry. 

Another half year passed. 

“ Little Inger, you really ought to go and see your old 
parents,” said her mistress. “Here is a large loaf of 
wheaten bread, you may take to them. They will be 
pleased to see you.” 

Inger put on all her best clothes, and her fine new shoes ; 
she held up her skirts and picked her steps carefully so as 
to keep her shoes nice and clean. Now no one could 
blame her for this ; but when she came to the path through 
the marsh a great part of it was wet and muddy, and she 
threw the loaf into the mud for a stepping-stone, to get 
over with dry shoes. As she stood there with one foot on 
the loaf and was lifting up the other for the next step, the 
loaf sank deeper and deeper with her till she entirely 
disappeared. Nothing was to be seen but a black bubbling 
pool. 

Now this is the story. 

But what had become of her? She w 7 ent down to the 
Marsh-wife who has a brewery down there. The Marsh- 
wife is own sister to the Elf-king, and aunt to the Elf- 
maidens who are well enough known. They have had 
verses written about them and pictures painted; but all 
that people know about the Marsh-wife is, that when the 
mist rises over the meadows in the summer, she is at her 


The Girl who trod on a Loaf 12 1 

brewing. It was into this brewery that little Inger fell, and 
no one can stand being there long. A scavenger’s cart is 
sweet compared to the Marsh-wife’s brewery. The smell 
from the barrels is enough to turn people faint, and the 
barrels are so close together that no one can pass between 
them, but wherever there is a little chink it is filled up with 
noisome toads and slimy snakes. Little Inger fell among 
all this horrid living filth ; it was so icy cold that she 
shuddered from head to foot, and her limbs grew quite stiff. 
The loaf stuck fast to her feet and it drew her down just as 
an amber button draws a bit of straw. 

The Marsh-wife was at home. Old Bogey and his great- 
grandmother were paying her a visit. The great-grand- 
mother is a very venomous old woman, and she is never idle. 
She never goes out without her work, and she had it with 
her to-day too. She was busily making gad-about leather to 
put into people’s shoes, so that the wearer might have no 
rest. She embroidered lies, and strung together all the 
idle words which fell to the ground, to make mischief of 
them. O yes, old great-grandmother can knit and embroider 
in fine style. 

As soon as she saw little Inger, she put up her eye-glass 
and looked at her through it. “That girl has got something 
in her,” she said; “I should like to have her as a remem- 
brance of my visit. She would make a very good statue in 
my great-grandson’s outer corridor.” 

So Inger was given to her and this was how she got to 
Bogey-land. People don’t always get there by such a direct 
route, though it is easy enough to get there in more round- 
about ways. 

What a never-ending corridor that was to be sure ; it 
made one giddy to look either backwards or forwards. 
Here stood an ignominous crew waiting for the door of 
mercy to be opened, but long might they wait. Great fat, 
sprawling spiders spun webs of a thousand years round and 
round their feet ; and these webs were like footscrews and 
held them as in a vice, or as though bound with a copper 
chain. Besides, there was such everlasting unrest in every 
soul ; the unrest of torment. The miser had forgotten the 
key of his money chest, he knew he had left it sticking in 
the lock. But it would take far too long to enumerate all 
the various tortures here. Inger experienced the torture of 
standing like a statue with a loaf tied to her feet. 


122 The Girl who trod on a Loaf 

“This is what comes of trying to keep one’s feet clean ! ” 
said she to herself. “ Look how they stare at me.” They 
did indeed stare at her, all their evil passions shone out of 
their eyes and spoke without words from their lips. They 
were a terrible sight. “ It must be a pleasure to look at me ! ” 
thought Inger, “ for I have a pretty face and nice clothes,” 
and then she turned her eyes to look at them, her neck was 
too stiff. But, oh, how dirty she had got in the Marsh-wife’s 
brewery ; she had never thought of that. Her clothes were 
covered with slime, a snake had got among her hair, and 
hung dangling down her back. A toad looked out of every 
fold in her dress, croaking like an asthmatic pug-dog. It 
was most unpleasant. “ But all the others down here look 
frightful too,” was her consolation. 

Worse than anything was the terrible hunger she felt, and 
she could not stoop down to break a bit of bread off the 
loaf she was standing on. No ; her back had stiffened, her 
arms and hands had stiffened, and her whole body was like 
a pillar of stone. She could only turn her eyes, but she 
could turn them right round, so as to look backwards ; and 
. a horrid sight it was. And then came the flies, they crept 
upon her eyes, and however much she winked they would 
not fly away; they could not, for she had pulled off their 
wings and made creeping insects of them. That was indeed 
a torment added to her gnawing hunger ; she seemed at 
last to be absolutely empty. 

“If this is to go on long I shan’t be able to bear it,” said 
she ; but it did go on, and bear it she must. 

Then a scalding tear fell upon her forehead, it trickled 
over her face and bosom right down to the loaf; then 
another fell, and another, till there was a perfect 
shower. 

Who was crying for little Inger ! Had she not a mother 
on earth? Tears of sorrow shed by a mother for her child 
will always reach it; but they do not bring healing, they 
burn and make the torment fifty times worse. Then this 
terrible hunger again, and she not able to get at the bread 
under her feet. She felt at last as if she had been feeding 
upon herself, and had become a mere hollow reed which 
conducts every sound. She distinctly heard everything that 
was said on earth about herself, and she heard nothing but 
hard words. 

Certainly her mother wept bitterly and sorrowfully, but at 


The Girl who trod on a Loaf 123 

the same time she said, “ Pride goes before a fall ! There 
was your misfortune, Inger ! How you have grieved your 
mother.” 

Her mother and everyone on earth knew all about her sin, 
how she had stepped upon the loaf, and sunk down under 
the earth, and so was lost. The cow-herd had told them so 
much ; he had seen it himself from the hillock where he 
was standing. 

“Plow you have grieved your mother, Inger,” said the 
poor woman. “But then I always said you would ! ” 

“ Oh, that I had never been born ! ” thought Inger then. 
“ I should have been much better off. My mother’s tears 
are no good now.” 

She heard the good people, her employers, who had been 
like parents to her, talking about her. “She was a sinful 
child,” they said. “She did not value the gifts of God, but 
trod them under foot. She will find it hard to open the 
door of mercy.” 

“ They ought to have brought me up better ! ” thought 
Inger; “they should have knocked the nonsense out of me 
if it was there.” 

She heard that a song had been written about her and 
sung all over the country, “ The arrogant girl who trod on a 
loaf to keep her shoes clean.” 

“That I should hear that old story so often, and have 
to suffer so much for it 1 ” thought Inger. 

“ The others ought to be punished for their sins, too,” 
said Inger; “there would be plenty to punish. Oh, how 
I am being tormented ! ” 

And her heart grew harder than her outer shell. 

“Nobody will ever get any better in this company! 
and I won’t be any better. Look, how they are all staring 
at me !” 

Her heart was full of anger and malice towards 
everybody. 

“Now they have got something to talk about up there! 
Oh, this torture ! ” 

She heard people telling her story to children, and the 
little ones always called her “wicked Inger,” — “she was 
so naughty that she had to be tormented.” She heard 
nothing but hard words from the children’s mouths. 

But one day when anger and hunger were gnawing at 
her hollow shell, she heard her name mentioned, and her 


124 The Girl who trod on a Loaf 

story being told to an innocent child, a little girl, and the 
little creature burst into tears at the story of proud, vain 
Inger. 

“But will she never come up here again?” asked the 
child, and the answer was, “ She will never come up again.” 

“ But if she was to ask pardon, and promise never to 
do it again?” 

“ She won’t ask pardon,” they said. 

“ But I want her to do it,” said the little girl who refused 
to be comforted. “ I will give my doll’s house if she may 
only come up again, it is so dreadful for poor Inger.” 

These words reached down into Inger’s heart, and they 
seemed to do her good. It was the first time that anyone 
said “Poor Inger,” without adding anything about her 
misdeeds. A little innocent child was weeping and pray- 
ing for her, and it made her feel quite odd : she would 
have liked to cry herself, but she could not shed a tear, 
and this was a further torment. 

As the years passed above, so they went on below 
without any change : she seldomer heard sounds from 
above, and she was less talked about. But one day she 
was aware of a sigh. “ Inger, Inger, what a grief you have 
been to me, but I always knew you would.” It was her 
mother who was dying. Occasionally she heard her name 
mentioned by her old employers, and the gentlest words 
her mistress used were, “shall I ever see you again, Inger? 
One never knows whither one may go ! ” 

But Inger knew very well that her good kindly mistress 
could never come to the place where she was. 

Again a long bitter period passed. Then Inger again 
heard her name pronounced, and saw above her head 
what seemed to be two bright stars; they w r ere in fact 
two kind eyes which were closing on earth. So many 
years had gone by since the little girl had cried so bitterly 
at the story of “ Poor Inger,” that the child had grown to 
be an old woman whom the Lord was now calling to Him- 
self. In the last hour when one’s whole life comes back 
to one, she remembered how as a little child she had wept 
bitter tears at the story of Inger. The impression was so 
clear to the old w^oman in the hour of death, that she 
exclaimed aloud, “Oh Lord, may I not, like Inger, have 
trodden on thy blessed gifts wdthout thinking; and may I 
not also have nourished pride in my heart, but in Thy 


The Girl who trod on a Loaf 125 

mercy Thou didst not let me fall ! Forsake me not now in 
my last hour ! ” 

The old woman’s eyes closed, and the eyes of her soul 
were opened to see the hidden things, and as Inger had 
been so vividly present in her last thoughts, she saw now 
how deep she had sank ; and at the sight she burst into 
tears. Then she stood in the Kingdom of Heaven, as a 
child, weeping for poor Inger. Her tears and prayers 
echoed into the hollow, empty shell which surrounded the 
imprisoned, tortured soul, and it was quite overwhelmed 
by all this unexpected love from above. An angel of God 
weeping over her! Why was this vouchsafed to her? 
The tortured soul recalled every earthly action it had ever 
performed, and at last it melted into tears, in a way Inger 
had never done. She was filled with grief for herself; it 
seemed as though the gate of mercy could never be opened 
to her. But as in humble contrition she acknowledged this, 
a ray of light shone into the gulf of destruction. The 
strength of the ray was far greater than that of the sunbeam 
which melts the snow-man built up by the boys in the 
garden; and sooner, much sooner, than a snowflake melts 
on the warm lips of a child, did Inger’s stony form dissolve 
before it, and a little bird with lightning speed winged its 
way to the upper world. It was terribly shy and afraid of 
everything. It was ashamed of itself and afraid to meet the 
eye of any living being, so it hastily sought shelter in a 
chink in the wall. There it cowered, shuddering in every 
limb; it could not utter a sound for it had no voice. It sat 
for a long time before it could survey calmly all the 
wonders around. Yes, they were wonders indeed, the air 
was so sweet and fresh, the moon shone so brightly, the 
trees and bushes were so fragrant; and then the comfort of 
it all, its feathers were so clean and dainty. How all 
creation spoke of lore and beauty ! The bird would 
gladly have sung aloud all these thoughts stirring in its 
breast, but it had not the power. Gladly would it have 
carolled as do the cuckoos and nightingales in summer. 
The good God who hears the voiceless hymn of praise 
even of a worm, was also aware of this psalm of thanks- 
giving trembling in the breast of the bird, as the psalms 
of David echoed in his heart before they shaped them- 
selves into words and melody. These thoughts, and these 
voiceless songs grew, and swelled for weeks; they must 


126 The Girl who trod on a Loaf 

have an outlet, and at the first attempt at a good deed this 
would be found. 

Then came the holy Christmas Feast. The peasants 
raised a pole against a wall, and tied a sheaf of oats on to 
the top, so that the little birds might have a good meal on 
the happy Christmas day. 

The sun rose bright and shone upon the sheaf of oats, 
and the twittering birds surrounded the pole. Then from 
the chink in the wall came a feeble tweet-tweet; the 
swelling thoughts of the bird had found a voice, and this 
faint twitter was its hymn of praise. The thought of a 
good deed was awakened, and the bird flew out of its 
hiding-place; in the Kingdom of Heaven this bird was 
well known. 

It was a very hard winter, and all the water had thick 
ice over it. The birds and wild creatures had great diffi- 
culty in finding food. The little bird flew along the high- 
ways finding here and there in the tracks of the sledges a 
grain of corn. At the baiting places it also found a few 
morsels of bread, of which it would only eat a crumb, and 
gave the rest to the other starving sparrows which it called 
up. Then it flew into the towns and peeped about. 
Wherever a loving hand had strewn bread crumbs for the 
birds, it only ate one crumb and gave the rest away. 

In the course of the winter the bird had collected and 
given away so many crumbs of bread, that they equalled in 
weight the whole loaf which little Inger had stepped upon 
to keep her shoes clean. When the last crumbs were found 
and given away, the bird’s grey wings became white and 
spread themselves wide. 

“A tern is flying away over the sea,” said the children 
who saw the white bird. Now it dived into the sea, and 
now it soared up into the bright sunshine. It gleamed so 
brightly that it was not possible to see what became of it ; 
they said it flew right into the sun. 


The Nightingale 

In China, as you know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all 
the people around him are Chinamen too. It is many years 
since the story I am going to tell you happened, but that is 
all the more reason for telling it, lest it should be forgotten. 
The emperor’s palace was the most beautiful thing in the 
world ; it was made entirely of the finest porcelain, very 
costly, but at the same time so fragile that it could only be 
touched with the very greatest care. There were the most 
extraordinary flowers to be seen in the garden ; the most 
beautiful ones had little silver bells tied to them, which 
tinkled perpetually, so that one should not pass the flowers 
without looking at them. Every little detail in the garden 
had been most carefully thought out, and it was so big, that 
even the gardener himself did not know where it ended. If 
one went on walking, one came to beautiful woods with 
lofty trees and deep lakes. The wood extended to the sea, 
which was deep and blue, deep enough for large ships to 
sail up right under the branches of the trees. Among these 
trees lived a nightingale, which sang so deliciously, that even 
the poor fisherman who had plenty of other things to do, lay 
still to listen to it, when he was out at night drawing in his 
nets. “Heavens, how beautiful it is!” he said, but then he 
had to attend to his business and forgot it. The next night 
when he heard it again he would again exclaim, “ Heavens, 
how beautiful it is ! ” 

Travellers came to the emperor’s capital, from every 
country in the world; they admired everything very much, 
especially the palace and the gardens, but when they heard 
the nightingale they all said, “This is belter than anything!” 

When they got home they described it, and the learned 
ones wrote many books about the town, the palace and the 
garden, but nobody forgot the nightingale, it was always put 
above everything else. Those among them who were poets 
wrote the most beautiful poems, all about the nightingale in 

12 7 


128 The Nightingale 

the woods by the deep blue sea. These books went all over 
the world, and in course of time, some of them reached the 
emperor. He sat in his golden chair reading and reading, 
and nodding his head well pleased to hear such beautiful 
descriptions of the town, the palace and the garden. “ But 
the nightingale is the best of all,” he read. 

“What is this?” said the emperor. “The nightingale? 
Why I know nothing about it. Is there such a bird in my 
kingdom, and in my own garden into the bargain, and I have 
never heard of it ? Imagine my having to discover this 
from a book ? ” 

Then he called his gentleman-in-waiting, who was so 
grand that when anyone of a lower rank dared to speak to 
him, or to ask him a question, he would only answer “ P,’’ 
which means nothing at all. 

“There is said to be a very wonderful bird called a night- 
ingale here,” said the emperor. “ They say that it is better 
than anything else in all my great kingdom ! Why have I 
never been told anything about it ? ” 

“ I have never heard it mentioned,” said the gentleman- 
in-waiting. “ It has never been presented at court.” 

“ I wish it to appear here this evening to sing to me/’ said 
the emperor. “ The whole world knows what I am 
possessed of, and I know nothing about it ! ” 

“ I have never heard it mentioned before,” said the gentle- 
man-in-waiting. “I will seek it, and I will find it!” But 
where was it to be found? The gentleman-in-waiting ran 
upstairs and downstairs and in and out of all the rooms and 
corridors. No one of all those he met had ever heard any- 
thing about the nightingale ; so the gentleman-in-waiting ran 
back to the emperor, and said that it must be a myth, invented 
by the writers of the books. “ Your imperial majesty must 
not believe everything that is written; books are often mere 
inventions, even if they do not belong to what we call the 
black art ! ” 

“But the book in which I read it is sent to me by 
the powerful Emperor of Japan, so it can’t be untrue, I 
will hear this nightingale, I insist upon its being here to- 
night. I extend my most gracious protection to it, and if it is 
not forthcoming, I will have the whole court trampled upon 
after supper ! ” 

“Tsing-pe!” said the gentleman-in-waiting, and away he 
ran again, up and down all the stairs, in and out of all the 


The N ightingale 129 

rooms and corridors ; half the court ran with him, for they 
none of them wished to be trampled on. There was much 
questioning about this nightingale, which was known to all the 
outside world, but to no one at court. At last they found a 
poor little maid in the kitchen. She said, “ Oh heavens, the 
nightingale? I know it very well. Yes, indeed it can sing. 
Every evening I am allowed to take broken meat to my poor 
sick mother : she lives down by the shore. On my way 
back when I am tired, I rest awhile in the wood, and then I 
hear the nightingale. Its song brings the tears into my eyes, 
I feel as if my mother were kissing me ! ” 

“ Little kitchen-maid,” said the gentleman-in-waiting, “ I 
will procure you a permanent position in the kitchen and 
permission to see the emperor dining, if you will take us to 
the nightingale. It is commanded to appear at court to- 
night.” 

Then they all went out into the wood where the nightin- 
gale usually sang. Half the court was there. As they were 
going along at their best pace a cow began to bellow. 

“ O ! said a young courtier, “ there we have it. What 
wonderful power for such a little creature ; I have certainly 
heard it before.” 

“No, those are the cows bellowing, we are a long way yet 
from the place.” Then the frogs began to croak in the 
marsh. 

“Beautiful? said the Chinese chaplain, “it is just like 
the tinkling of church bells.” 

“No, those are the frogs!” said the little kitchen maid. 
“ But I think we shall soon hear it now ! ” 

Then the nightingale began to sing. 

“ There it is ! ” said the little girl. “ Listen, listen, there 
it sits ! ” and she pointed to a little gray bird up among the 
branches. 

“Is it possible?” said the gentleman-in-waiting. “I 
should never have thought it was like that. How common 
it looks. Seeing so many grand people must have 
frightened all its colours away.” 

“ Little nightingale ! ” called the kitchen maid quite loud, 
“ our gracious emperor wishes you to sing to him ! ” 

“ With the greatest pleasure ! ” said the nightingale, 
warbling away in the most delightful fashion. 

“ It is just like crystal bells,” said the gentleman-in-wait- 
ing. “ Look at its little throat, how active it is. It is 


130 The Nightingale 

extraordinary that we have never heard it before ! I am sure 
it will be a great success at court ! ” 

“ Shall I sing again to the emperor?” said the nightin- 
gale, who thought he was present. 

“ My precious little nightingale,” said the gentleman-in- 
waiting, “ I have the honour to command your attendance 
at a court festival to-night, where you will charm his gracious 
majesty the emperor with your fascinating singing.” 

“ It sounds best among the trees,” said the nightingale, 
but it went with them willingly when it heard that the 
emperor wished it. 

The palace had been brightened up for the occasion. The 
walls and the floors which were all of china shone by the light 
of many thousand golden lamps. The most beautiful 
flowers, all of the tinkling kind, were arranged in the corri- 
dors ; there was hurrying to and fro, and a great draught, but 
this was just what made the bells ring, one’s ears were full 
of the tinkling. In the middle of the large reception room 
where the emperor sat a golden rod had been fixed, on 
which the nightingale was to perch. The whole court was 
assembled, and the little kitchen maid had been permitted 
to stand behind the door, as she now had the actual title of 
cook. They were all dressed in their best ; everybody’s 
eyes were turned towards the little gray bird at which the 
emperor was nodding. The nightingale sang delightfully, 
and the tears came into the emperor’s eyes, nay, they rolled 
down his cheeks, and then the nightingale sang more 
beautifully than ever, its notes touched all hearts. The 
emperor was charmed, and said the nightingale should have 
his gold slipper to wear round its neck. But the nightingale 
declined with thanks, it had already been sufficiently re- 
warded. 

“ I have seen tears in the eyes of the emperor, that is 
my richest reward. The tears of an emperor have a 
wonderful power ! God knows I am sufficiently recom- 
pensed ! ” and then it again burst into its sweet heavenly 
song. 

“ That is the most delightful coquetting I have ever 
seen ! ” said the ladies, and they took some water into 
their mouths to try and make the same gurgling, when 
anyone spoke to them thinking so to equal the nightingale. 
Even the lackeys and the chambermaids announced that 
they were satisfied, and that is saying a great deal, they 


The Nightingale 131 

are always the most difficult people to please. Yes, indeed, 
the nightingale had made a sensation. It was to stay at 
court now, and to have its own cage, as well as liberty to 
walk out twice a day, and once in the night. It always had 
twelve footmen with each one holding a ribbon which was 
tied round its leg. There was not much pleasure in an 
outing of that sort. 

The whole town talked about the marvellous bird, and 
if two people met, one said to the other “Night,” and the 
other answered “ Gale,” and then they sighed, perfectly 
understanding each other. Eleven cheesemongers’ children 
were called after it, but they had not got a voice among 
them. 

One day a large parcel came for the emperor, outside 
was written the word “Nightingale.” 

“ Here we have another new book about this celebrated 
bird,” said the emperor. But it was no book, it was a 
little work of art in a box, an artificial nightingale, exactly 
like the living one, but it was studded all over with 
diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. 

When the bird was wound up, it could sing one of the 
songs the real one sang, and it wagged its tail which 
glittered with silver and gold. A ribbon was tied round 
its neck on which was written, “ The Emperor of Japan’s 
nightingale is very poor, compared to the Emperor ol 
China’s.” 

Everybody said, “ Oh, how beautiful ! ” And the person 
who brought the artificial bird immediately received the 
title of Imperial Nightingale-Carrier in Chief. 

“Now, they must sing together; what a duet that will 
be.” 

Then they had to sing together, but they did not get on 
very well, for the real nightingale sang in its own way, and 
the artificial one could only sing waltzes. 

“ There is no fault in that,” said the music master ; " it 
is perfectly in time and correct in every way ! ” 

Then the artificial bird had to sing alone. It was just 
as great a success as the real one, and then it was so 
much prettier to look at, it glittered like bracelets and 
breast-pins. 

It sang the same tune three and thirty times over, and 
yet it was not tired ; people would willingly have heard it 
from the beginning again, but the Emperor said that the 


132 The Nightingale 

real one must have a turn now — but where was it ? No 
one had noticed that it had flown out of the open window, 
back to its own green woods. 

“ But what is the meaning of this ? ” said the emperor. 

All the courtiers railed at it, and said it was a most 
ungrateful bird. 

“ We have got the best bird though,” said they, and 
then the artificial bird had to sing again, and this was the 
thirty-fourth time that they heard the same tune, but they 
did not know it thoroughly even yet, because it was so 
difficult. 

The music master praised the bird tremendously, and 
insisted that it was much better than the real nightingale, 
not only as regarded the outside with all the diamonds, but 
the inside too. 

“ Because you see, my ladies and gentlemen, and the 
emperor before all, in the real nightingale you never know 
what you will hear, but in the artificial one everything is 
decided beforehand ! So it is, and so it must remain, it 
can’t be otherwise. You can account for things, you can 
open it and show the human ingenuity in arranging the 
waltzes, how they go, and how one note follows upon 
another ! ” 

“ Those are exactly my opinions,” they all said, and the 
music master got leave to show the bird to the public next 
Sunday. They were also to hear it sing, said the emperor. 
So they heard it, and all became as enthusiastic over it, as 
if they had drunk themselves merry on tea, because that is 
a thoroughly Chinese habit. 

Then they all said “Oh,” and stuck their forefingers in 
the air and nodded their heads; but the poor fishermen 
who had heard the real nightingale said, “ It sounds very 
nice, and it is very like the real one, but there is something 
wanting, we don’t know what.” The real nightingale was 
banished from the kingdom. 

The artificial bird had its place on a silken cushion, close 
to the emperor’s bed : all the presents it had received of 
gold and precious jewels were scattered round it. Its title 
had risen to be “Chief Imperial Singer of the Bed- 
Chamber,” in rank number one, on the left side; for the 
emperor reckoned that side the important one, where the 
heart was seated. And even an emperor’s heart is on the 
left side. The music master wrote five and twenty volumes 


The Nightingale 133 

about the artificial bird ; the treatise was very long, and 
written in all the most difficult Chinese characters. Every- 
body said they had read and understood it, for otherwise 
they would have been reckoned stupid and then their bodies 
would have been trampled upon. 

Things went on in this way for a whole year. The 
emperor, the court, and all the other Chinamen knew 
every little gurgle in the song of the artificial bird by 
heart; but they liked it all the better for this, and they 
could all join in the song themselves. Even the street boys 
sang “zizizi” and “cluck, cluck, cluck,” and the emperor 
sang it too. 

But one evening when the bird was singing its best, 
and the emperor was lying in bed listening to it, something 
gave way inside the bird with a “ whizz.” Then a spring 
burst, “ whirr ” went all the wheels and the music stopped. 
The emperor jumped out of bed and sent for his private 
physicians, but what good could they do? Then they sent 
for the watchmaker, and after a good deal of talk and 
examination, he got the works to go again somehow ; but 
he said it would have to be saved as much as possible, 
because it was so worn out, and he could not renew the 
works so as to be sure of the tune. This was a great blow ! 
They only dared to let the artificial bird sing once a year, 
and hardly that ; but then the music master made a little 
speech using all the most difficult words. He said it was 
just as good as ever, and his saying it made it so. 

Five years now passed, and then a great grief came upon 
the nation, for they were all very fond of their emperor, and 
he was ill and could not live, it was said. A new emperor 
was already chosen, and people stood about in the street, 
and asked the gentleman-in-waiting how their emperor was 
going on. 

“ P,” answered he, shaking his head. 

The emperor lay pale and cold in his gorgeous bed, the 
courtiers thought he was dead, and they all went off to pay 
their respects to their new emperor. The lackeys ran off to 
talk matters over, and the chambermaids gave a great coffee 
party. Cloth had been laid down in all the rooms and 
corridors so as to deaden the sound of footsteps, so it was 
very, very quiet. But the emperor was not dead yet. He 
lay stiff and pale in the gorgeous bed with its velvet hangings 
and heavy golden tassels. There was an open window high 


134 The Nightingale 

above him, and the moon streamed in upon the emperor, and 
the artificial bird beside him. 

The poor emperor could hardly breathe, he seemed to 
have a weight on his chest, he opened his eyes and then he 
saw that it was Death sitting upon his chest, wearing his 
golden crown. In one hand he held the emperor’s golden 
sword, and in the other his imperial banner. Round about, 
from among the folds of the velvet hangings peered many 
curious faces, some were hideous, others gentle and pleasant. 
They were all the emperor’s good and bad deeds, which now 
looked him in the face when Death was weighing him 
down. 

“ Do you remember that ?” whispered one after the other, 
“Do you remember this?” and they told him so many 
things, that the perspiration poured down his face. 

“ I never knew that,” said the emperor. Music, music, 
sound the great Chinese drums !” he cried, “ that I may not 
hear what they are saying.” But they went on and on, and 
Death sat nodding his head, just like a Chinaman, at every- 
thing that was said. 

“Music, music!” shrieked the emperor. “You precious 
little golden bird, sing, sing ! I have loaded you with 
precious stones, and even hung my own. golden slipper round 
your neck, sing, I tell you, sing ! ” 

But the bird stood silent, there was nobody to wind it 
up, so of course it could not go. Death continued to fix the 
great empty sockets of its eyes upon him, and all was silent, 
so terribly silent. 

Suddenly, close to the window, there was a burst of lovely 
song; it was the living nightingale, perched on a branch 
outside. It had heard of the emperor’s need, and had come 
to bring comfort and hope to him. As it sang the faces 
round became fainter and fainter, and the blood coursed with 
fresh vigour in the emperor’s veins and through his feeble 
limbs. Even Death himself listened to the song and said, 
“ Go on little nightingale, go on ! ” 

“ Yes, if you give me the gorgeous golden sword ; yes, if 
you give me the imperial banner; yes, if you give me the 
emperor’s crown.” 

And Death gave back each of these treasures for a song, 
and the nightingale went on singing. It sang about the 
quiet churchyard, when the roses bloom, where the elder 
flower scents the air, and where the fresh grass is ever 


The Nightingale 135 

moistened anew by the tears of the mourner. This song 
brought to Death a longing for his own garden, and like a 
cold grey mist, he passed out of the window. 

“ Thanks, thanks ! ” said the emperor ; “ you heavenly little 
bird, I know you ! I banished you from my kingdom, and 
yet you have charmed the evil visions away from my bed by 
your song, and even Death away from my heart ! How can 
I ever repay you ? ” 

“ You have rewarded me,” said the nightingale. “ I 
brought the tears to your eyes, the very first time I ever sang 
to you, and I shall never forget it ! Those are the jewels 
which gladden the heart of a singer; — but sleep now, and 
wake up fresh and strong ! I will sing to you ! ” 

Then it sang again, and the emperor fell into a sweet re- 
freshing sleep. The sun shone in at his window, when he 
woke refreshed and well; none of his attendants had yet 
come back to him, for they thought he was dead, but the 
nightingale still sat there singing. 

“You must always stay with me!” said the emperor. 
“ You shall only sing when you like, and I will break the 
artificial bird into a thousand pieces ! ” 

“ Don’t do that ! ” said the nightingale, “ it did all the 
good it could ! keep it as you have always done ! I can’t 
build my nest and live in this palace, but let me come when- 
ever I like, then I will sit on the branch in the evening, and 
sing to you. I will sing to cheer you and to make you 
thoughtful too ; I will sing to you of the happy ones, and of 
those that suffer too. I will sing about the good and the 
evil, which are kept hidden from you. The little singing bird 
flies far and wide, to the poor fisherman, and the peasant’s 
home, to numbers who are far from you and your court. 
I love your heart more than your crown, and yet there is an 
odour of sanctity round the crown too ! — I will come, and I 
will sing to you ! — But you must promise me one thing ! ” — 
“Everything!” said the emperor, who stood there in h : s 
imperial robes which he had just put on, and he held the 
sword heavy with gold upon his heart. 

“ One thing I ask you ! Tell no one that you have a 
little bird who tells you everything, it will be better so ! ” 
Then the nightingale flew away. The attendants came in 
to see after their dead emperor, and there he stood, bidding 
them “good-morning ! ” 


K 


The Storks 


A Stork had built his nest on the roof of the last house in 
a little town. The mother-stork was sitting on the nest with 
her little ones, who stuck out their little black beaks, which 
had not turned red yet. The father-stork stood a little way 
off on the ridge of the roof, erect and stiff, with one leg 
drawn up under him, so as at least to be at some trouble 
while standing sentry. One might have thought he was 
carved out of wood, he stood so still ! 

“ It will look so grand for my wife to have a sentry on 
guard by the nest ! ” he thought. “ People won’t know that 
I am her husband, I daresay they think I have orders to 
stand there — it looks smart ! ” and so he remained standing 
on one leg. 

A party of children were playing in the street, and when 
they saw the stork, one of the boldest boys, followed by the 
others, sang the old song about the storks, but he sang it 
just as it came into his head, 

“ Oh ! father stork, father stork, fly to your nest, 

Three featherless fledglings await your return. 

The first of your chicks shall be stuck through the breast 
The second shall hang and the third shall burn.” 

“Hark! what are the boys singing?” said the little 
storks ; “ they say we are to be hanged and burnt ! ” 

“ Don’t bother your heads about them ! ” said the mother- 
stork ; “ don’t listen to them and then it won’t do you any 
harm.” 

But the boys went on singing and pointing their fingers 
at the storks; only one boy, whose name was Peter, said 
that it was a shame to make fun of the creatures and he 
would take no part in it. 

The mother bird comforted her little ones saying, “ Do 
not trouble yourselves about it, look at your father how 
quietly he stands, and on one leg too ! ” 

i 3 6 


The Storks 137 

“ But we are so frightened,” said the young ones, burying 
their heads in the nest. 

The next day when the children came back to play and 
they saw the storks they began their old song, 

“ The first of your chicks shall be stuck through the breast, 

The second shall hang and the third shall burn.” 

“ Are we to be hanged and burnt ? ” asked the little storks. 

“No, certainly not ! ” said the mother; “you are to learn 
to fly, see if I don't drill you, then we will go into the fields 
and visit the frogs ; they curtsey in the water to us and sing 
‘ Koax, Koax,’ and then we gobble them up ; that’s a treat 
if you like ! ” 

“ And what next ? ” asked the young ones. 

“ Oh, then all the storks in the country assemble for the 
autumn manoeuvres, and you will have to fly your best, for 
the one who cannot fly will be run through the body by the 
general’s beak, so you must take good care to learn some- 
thing when the drills begin.” 

“After all then we may be staked just as the boys said, 
and listen, they are singing it again now ! ” 

“ Listen to me and not to them,” said the mother stork. 
“ After the grand manoeuvres we shall fly away to the warm 
countries, ever such a way off, over the woods and moun- 
tains. We go to Egypt where they have three-cornered 
houses the points of which reach above the clouds ; they 
are called Pyramids, and they are older than any stork can 
imagine. Then there is a river which overflows its banks 
and all the land round turns to mud. You walk about in 
mud devouring frogs.” 

“ Oh ! ” said all the young ones. 

“Yes, it is splendid, you do nothing but eat all day; 
while we are so well off there, there is not a leaf on the trees 
in this country, and it is so cold that the clouds freeze all 
to pieces and fall down in little bits.” 

She meant snow, but did not know how to describe it any 
better. 

“ Do the naughty boys freeze to pieces ? ” asked the young 
storks. 

“ No, they don’t freeze to pieces, but they come very near 
to it and have to sit moping in dark rooms; you, on the 
other hand, fly about in strange countries, in the warm sun- 
shine among flowers.” 


138 The Storks 

Some time passed and the little ones were big enough to 
stand up in the nest and look about them. The father 
stork flew backwards and forwards every day, with nice frogs 
and little snakes, and every kind of delicacy he could find. 
It w r as so funny to see the tricks he did to amuse them ; he 
would turn his head right round on to his tail, and he would 
clatter with his beak, as if it was a rattle. And then he told 
them all the stories he heard in the swamps. 

“Well, now you must learn to fly,” said the mother stork 
one day ; and all the young ones had to stand on the ridge 
of the roof. Oh, how they wobbled about trying to keep 
their balance with their wings, and how nearly they fell 
down. 

“Now look at me,” said the mother; “this is how you 
must hold your heads ! And move your legs so ! one, two, 
one, two, this will all help you to get on in the world.” 

Then she flew a little way, and the young ones made a 
clumsy little hop, and down they came with a bump, for 
their bodies were too heavy. 

“ I don’t want to fly,” said one of the young ones, creep- 
ing down into the nest again. “ I don’t care about going 
to the warm countries.” 

“Do you want to freeze to death here when the winter 
comes? Shall the boys come and hang or burn or stake 
you ? I will soon call them ! ” 

“ No, no,” said the young one, hopping up on to the 
roof again, just like the others. 

By the third day they could all fly fairly well ; then they 
thought they could hover in the air, too, and they tried it, 
but flop ! — they soon found they had to move their wings 
again. 

Then the boys began their song again : 

“ Oh ! father stork, father stork, fly to your nest.” 

“ Shall we fly down and pick their eyes out ? ” asked the 
young ones. 

“No, leave them alone,” said their mother; “only pay 
attention to me, that is much more important. One, two, 
three, now we fly to the right ; one, two, three, now to the 
left, and round the chimney ! that was good. That last 
stroke of the wings was so pretty and the flap so well done 
that I will allow you to go to the swamp with me to- 
morrow ! Several nice storks go there with their children ; 


The Storks 139 

now just let me see that mine are the nicest. Don’t forget 
to carry your heads high ; it looks well, and gives you an 
air of importance.” 

“ But are we not to have our revenge on the naughty 
boys ? ” asked the young storks. 

“ Let them scream as much as they like ; you will fly 
away with the clouds to the land of the pyramids, while they 
will perhaps be freezing. There won’t be a green leaf or a 
sweet apple here then ! ” 

“ But we will have our revenge ! ” they whispered to each 
other, and then they began their drilling again. 

Of all the boys in the street, not one was worse at making 
fun of the storks than he who first began the derisive song. 
He was a tiny little fellow, not more than six years old. It 
is true, the young storks thought he was at least a hundred, 
for he was so much bigger than their father and mother, and 
they had no idea how old children and grown-up people 
could be. They reserved all their vengeance for the boy 
who first began to teaze them, and who never would leave 
off. The young storks were frightfully irritated by the 
teazing, and the older they grew the less they would stand 
it. At last their mother was obliged to promise that they 
should have their revenge, but not till the last day before 
they left. 

“We shall first have to see how you behave at the 
manoeuvres ! If you come to grief and the general has 
to run you through the breast with his beak, the boys will 
after all be right, at least in one way ! Now let us see ! ” 

“ That you shall ! ” said the young ones ; and didn’t 
they take pains. They practised every day, till they could 
fly as lightly as any feather ; it was quite a pleasure to 
watch them. 

Then came the autumn ; all the storks began to assemble, 
before they started on their flight to the warm countries, 
where they spend their winters. 

Those were indeed manoeuvres ! They had to fly over 
woods and towns, to try their wings, because they had such 
a long journey before them. The young storks did every- 
thing so well, that they got no end of frogs and snakes 
! as prizes. They had the best characters, and then they 
could eat the frogs and snakes afterwards, which you may 
be sure they did. 

“ Now we shall have our revenge ! ” they said. 


140 The Storks 

“Yes, certainly,” said the mother stork. “My plan is 
this, and I think it is the right one ! I know the pond where 
all the little human babies lie, till the storks fetch them, and 
give them to their parents. The pretty little creatures lie 
there asleep, dreaming sweet dreams, sweeter than any they 
ever dream afterwards. Every parent wishes for such a little 
baby, and every child wants a baby brother or sister. Now 
we fly to the pond and fetch a little brother or sister for each 
of those children who did not join in singing that horrid 
song, or in making fun of the storks. But those who sang 
it shall not have one.” 

“ But what about that bad w’icked boy who first began the 
song ! ” shrieked the young storks ; “ what is to be done to 
him ? ” 

“ In the pond there is a little dead baby, it has dreamed 
itself to death, we will take it to him, and then he will cry, 
because we have brought him, a little dead brother. But 
you have surely not forgotten the good boy, who said ‘ It is 
a shame to make fun of the creatures ! * We will take both 
a brother and a sister to him, and because his name is Peter, 
you shall all be called Peter too.” 

It happened just as she said, and all the storks are called 
Peter to this day. 



The Little Match Girl 


It was late on a bitterly cold, snowy, New Year’s Eve. A 
poor little girl was wandering in the dark cold streets ; she 
was bare headed and bare footed. She certainly had had 
slippers on when she left home, but they were not much 
good, for they were so huge. They had last been worn by 
her mother, and they fell off the poor little girl’s feet when 
she was running across the street to avoid two carriages that 
were rolling rapidly by. One of the shoes could not be 
found at all ; and the other was picked up by a boy who ran 
off with it, saying that it would do for a cradle when he had 
children of his own. So the poor little girl had to go on 
with her little bare feet, which were red and blue with the 
cold. She carried a quantity of matches in her old apron, 
and held a packet of them in her hand. Nobody had 
bought any of her during all the long day ; nobody had even 
given her a copper. The poor little creature was hungry 
and perishing with cold, and she looked the picture of misery. 
The snowflakes fell upon her long yellow hair, which curled 
so prettily round her face, but she paid no attention to that. 
Lights were shining from every window, and there was a 
most delicious odour of roast goose in the streets, for it was 
New Year’s Eve — she could not forget that. She found a 
corner where one house projected a little beyond the next 
one, and here she crouched, drawing up her feet under her, 
but she was colder than ever. She did not dare to go home 
for she had not sold any matches, and had not earned a 
single penny. Her father would beat her, besides it was 
almost as cold at home as it was here. They only had the 
roof over them and the wind whistled through it although 
they stuffed up the biggest cracks with rags and straw. Her 
little hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, one little 
match would do some good ! Dared she pull one out of the 
bundle and strike it on the wall to warm her fingers ! She 
pulled one out, “ risch,” how it spluttered, how it blazed ! It 


142 The Little Match Girl 

burnt with a bright clear flame, just like a little candle when 
she held her hand round it. It was a very curious candle 
too. The little girl fancied that she was sitting in front of a 
big stove with polished brass feet and handles. There was 
a splendid fire blazing in it and warming her so beautifully, 
but — what happened — just as she was stretching out her feet 
to warm them, — the blaze went out, the stove vanished, and 
she was left sitting with the end of the burnt-out match in 
her hand. She struck a new one, it burnt, it blazed up, and 
where the light fell upon the wall, it became transparent like 
gauze, and she could see right through it into the room. 
The table was spread with a snowy cloth and pretty china ; 
a roast goose stuffed with apples and prunes was steaming 
on it. And what was even better, the goose hopped from 
the dish with the carving knife and fork sticking in his back, 
and it waddled across the floor. It came right up to the 
poor child, and then — the match went out, and there was 
nothing to be seen but the thick black wall. 

Again, she lit another. This time she was sitting under 
a lovely Christmas tree. It was much bigger and more 
beautifully decorated than the one she had seen when she 
peeped through the glass doors at the rich merchant’s house 
this very last Christmas. Thousands of lighted candles 
gleamed upon its branches, and coloured pictures, such as 
she had seen in the shop windows, looked down to her. 
The little girl stretched out both her hands towards them — 
then out went the match. All the Christmas candles rose 
higher and higher, till she saw that they were only the 
twinkling stars. One of them fell and made a bright streak 
of light across the sky. “ Some one is dying,” thought the 
little girl ; for her old grandmother, the only person who 
had ever been kind to her, used to say, “ When a star falls 
a soul is going up to God.” 

Now she struck another match against the wall, and this 
time it was her grandmother who appeared in the circle of 
flame. She saw her quite clearly and distinctly, looking so 
gentle and happy. 

“ Grandmother ! ” cried the little creature. “ Oh, do 
take me with you ! I know you will vanish when the match 
goes out ; you will vanish like the warm stove, the delicious 
goose, and the beautiful Christmas tree ! ” 

She hastily struck a whole bundle of matches, because 
she did so long to keep her grandmother with her. The 


The Little Match Girl 143 

light of the matches made it as bright as day. Grand- 
mother had never before looked so big or so beautiful. 
She lifted the little girl up in her arms, and they soared in a 
halo of light and joy, far, far above the earth, where there 
w T as no more cold, no hunger, no pain, for they were with 
God. 

In the cold morning light the poor little girl sat there, in 
the corner between the houses, with rosy cheeks and a 
smile on her face — dead. Frozen to death on the last night 
of the old year. New Year’s Day broke on the little body 
still sitting with the ends of the burnt out matches in her 
hand. She must have tried to warm herself, they said. 
Nobody knew what beautiful visions she had seen, nor in 
what a halo she had entered with her grandmother upon 
the glories of the New Year ! 




Great Claus and Little Claus 


In a village there once lived two men of the self-same name. 
They were both called Claus, but one of them had four 
horses, and the other had only one ; so to distinguish them 
people called the owner of the four horses “ Great Claus,” 
and he who had only one “Little Claus.” Now I shall tell 
you what happened to them, for this is a true story. 

Throughout the week Little Claus was obliged to plough 
for Great Claus, and to lend him his one horse ; but once a 
week, on Sunday, Great Claus lent him all his four horses. 

“ Hurrah ! ” How Little Claus would smack his whip over 
all five, for they were as good as his own on that one day. 

The sun shone brightly and the church bells rang merrily 
as the people passed by, dressed in their best, with their 
prayer-books under their arms. They were going to hear 
the parson preach. They looked at Little Claus ploughing 
with his five horses, and he was so proud that he smacked 
his whip and said, “ Gee-up, my five horses.” 

“ You mustn’t say that,” said Great Claus, “ for only one 
of them is yours.” 

But Little Claus soon forgot what he ought not to say, 
and when anyone passed, he would call out, “ Gee-up, my 
five horses.” 

“ I must really beg you not to say that again,” said 
Great Claus, “for if you do, I shall hit your horse on the 
head, so that he will drop down dead on the spot, and 
there will be an end of him.” 

“ I promise you I will not say it again,” said the other ; 
but as soon as anybody came by nodding to him, and wish- 
ing him “ Good day,” he was so pleased, and thought how 
grand it was to have five horses ploughing in his field, that 
he cried out again, “ Gee-up, all my horses ! ” 

“ I’ll gee-up your horses for you,” said Great Claus, and 
seizing the tethering mallet he struck Little Claus’ one horse 
on the head, and it fell down dead. 


M4 


Great Claus and Little Claus 145 

“Oh, now I have no horse at all,” said Little Claus, 
weeping. But after a while he flayed the dead horse, and 
hung up the skin in the wind to dry. 

Then he put the dry skin into a bag, and hanging it over 
his shoulder went off to the next town to sell it. But he 
had a long way to go, and had to pass through a dark and 
gloomy forest. 

Presently a storm arose, and 
he lost his way ; and before he 
discovered the right path even- 
ing was drawing on, and it was 
still a long way to the town, and 
too far to return home before 
nightfall. 

Near the road stood a large 
farmhouse. The shutters out- 
side the windows were closed, 
but lights shone through the 
crevices and at the top. “ They 
might let me stay here for the 
night,” thought Little Claus, so 
he went up to the door and 
knocked. The farmer’s wife 
opened the door, but when she 
heard what he wanted, she told 
him to go away ; her husband 
was not at home, and she could 
not let any strangers in. 

“Then I shall have to lie 
out here,” said Little Claus to 
himself as the farmer’s wife shut 
the door in his face. j 

Close to the farmhouse stood £ 
a large haystack, and between it and the house there 
was a small shed with a thatched roof. “I can lie up 
there,” said little Claus, as he saw 7 the roof; “it will make 
a famous bed, but I hope the stork won’t fly down and 
bite my legs.” A live stork was standing up there who had 
his nest on the roof. 

So Little Claus climbed on to the roof of the shed, and as 
he turned about to make himself comfortable he discovered 
that the wooden shutters did not reach to the top of the 
windows, so that he could see into the room, in which a 



146 Great Claus and Little Claus 

large table was laid out, with wine, roast meat, and a 
splendid fish. 

The farmer’s wife and the sexton were sitting at table 
together, nobody else was there. She was filling his glass 
and helping him plentifully to fish, which appeared to be 
his favourite dish. 

“ If only I could have some too,” thought Little Claus, 
and then as he stretched out his neck towards the window 
he spied a beautiful, large cake, — indeed they had a glorious 
feast before them. 

At that moment he heard someone riding down the road 
towards the farm. It was the farmer coming home. 

He was a good man, but he had one very strange pre- 
judice — he could not bear the sight of a sexton. If he 
happened to see one he would get into a terrible rage. In 
consequence of this dislike, the sexton had gone to visit the 
farmer’s wife during her husband’s absence from home, and 
the good woman had put before him the best of everything 
she had in the house to eat. 

When they heard the farmer they were dreadfully frightened, 
and the woman made the sexton creep into a large chest 
which stood in a corner. He went at once, for he was well 
aware of the poor man’s aversion to the sight of a sexton. 
The woman then quickly hid all the nice things and the 
wine in the oven, because if her husband had seen it he 
would have asked why it was provided. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Little Claus, on the roof, when he saw 
the food disappearing. 

“Is there anyone up there?” asked the farmer, peering 
up at Little Claus. “What are you doing up there? You 
had better come into the house.” 

Then Little Claus told him how he had lost his way, and 
asked if he might have shelter for the night. 

“ Certainly,” said the farmer ; “ but the first thing is to 
have something to eat.” 

The woman received them both very kindly, laid the 
table, and gave them a large bowl of porridge. The farmer 
was hungry, and ate it with a good appetite; but Little 
Claus could not help thinking of the good roast meat, the 
fish and the cake, which he knew were hidden in the 
oven. 

He had put his sack with the hide in it under the table 
by his feet, for, as we remember, he was on his way to the 


Great Claus and Little Claus 147 

town to sell it. He did not fancy the porridge, so he trod 
on the sack and made the dried hide squeak quite loudly. 

“ Hush ! ” said Little Claus to his sack, at the same time 
treading on it again, so that it squeaked louder than ever. 

“ What on earth have you got in your sack ? ” asked the 
farmer again. 

“ Oh, it’s a Goblin,” said Little Claus ; “ he says we 
needn’t eat the porridge, for he has charmed the oven full 
of roast meat and fish and cake.” 

“What do you say!” said the farmer, opening the oven 
door with all speed, and seeing the nice things the woman 
had hidden, but which her husband thought the Goblin had 
produced for their special benefit. 

The woman dared not say anything, but put the food 
before them, and then they both made a hearty meal of the 
fish, the meat and the cake. 

Then Little Claus trod on the skin and made it squeak 
again. 

“ What does he say now ? ” asked the farmer. 

“He says,” answered Little Claus, “that he has also 
charmed three bottles of wine into the oven for us.” 

So the woman had to bring out the wine too, and the 
farmer drank it and became very merry. Wouldn’t he like 
to have a Goblin, like the one in Little Claus’ sack, for 
himself? 

“Can he charm out the Devil?” asked the farmer. “I 
shouldn’t mind seeing him, now that I am in such a merry 
mood.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” said Little Claus ; “ my Goblin can do every- 
thing that we ask him. Can’t you?” he asked, trampling 
up the sack till it squeaked louder than ever. “ Do you 
hear what I say ? But the Devil is so ugly, you’d better not 
see him.” 

“ Oh ! I’m not a bit frightened. Whatever does he look 
like?” 

“ Well, he will show himself in the image of a sexton.” 

“Oh, dear!” said the farmer; “that’s bad! I must tell 
you that I can’t bear to see a sexton ! However, it doesn’t 
matter ; I shall know it’s only the Devil, and then I shan’t 
mind so much! Now, my courage is up! But he mustn’t 
come too close.” 

“ I’ll ask my Goblin about it,” said Little Claus, treading 
on the bag and putting his ear close to it. 


148 Great Claus and Little Claus 

“ What does he say ? ” 

“He says you can go along and open the chest in the 
corner, and there you’ll see the Devil moping in the dark ; 
but hold the lid tight so that he doesn’t get out. 

“ Will you help me to hold it ! ” asked the farmer, going 
along to the chest where the woman had hidden the real 
sexton, who was shivering with fright. 

The farmer lifted up the lid a wee little bit and peeped in. 
“Ha!” he shrieked, and sprang back. “Yes, I saw him, 
and he looked just exactly like our sexton! It was a 
horrible sight.” 

They had to have a drink after this, and there they sat 
drinking till far into the night. 

“You must sell me that Goblin,” said the farmer. “You 
may ask what you like for him ! I’ll give you a bushel of 
money for him.” 

“No, I can’t do that,” said Little Claus ; “you must re- 
member how useful my Goblin is to me.” 

“ Oh, but 1 should so like to have him,” said the farmer, 
and he went on begging for him. 

“ Well,” said Little Claus at last, “ as you have been so 
kind to me I shall have to give him up. “ You shall have 
my Goblin for a bushel of money, but I must have it full to 
the brim ! ” 

“ You shall have it,” said the farmer ; “ but you must take 
that chest away with you ; I won’t have it in the house for 
another hour ; you never know whether he’s there or 
not.” 

So Little Claus gave his sack with the dried hide in it to 
the farmer, and received in return a bushel of money for it, 
and the measure was full to the brim. The farmer also gave 
him a large wheelbarrow to take the money and the chest 
away in. 

“ Good-bye ! ” said Little Claus, and off he went with his 
money and the big chest with the sexton in it. 

There was a wide and deep river on the other side of the 
wood, the stream was so strong that it was almost impossible 
to swim against it. A large new bridge had been built 
across it, and when they got into the very middle of it, 
Little Claus said quite loud, so that the sexton could hear 
him — 

“What am I to do with this stupid old chest ? it might be 
full of paving stones, it’s so heavy ! I am quite tired of 


Great Claus and Little Claus 149 

wheeling it along ; I’ll just throw it into the river ; if it floats 
down the river to my house, well and good, and if it doesn’t, 
I shan’t care.” 

Then he took hold of the chest and raised it up a bit, as 
if he was about to throw it into the river. 

“ No, no ! let it be ! ” shouted the sexton ; “ let me get 
out ! ” 

“ Hullo ! ” said Little Claus, pretending to be frightened. 
“ Why, he’s still inside it, then I must have it into the river 
to drown him.” 

“ Oh no, oh no ! ” shouted the sexton. “ I’ll give you a 
bushel full of money if you’ll let me out ! ” 

“ Oh, that’s another matter,” said Little Claus, opening the 
chest. The sexton crept out at once and pushed the empty 
chest into the water, and then went home and gave Little 
Claus a whole bushel full of money : he had already had one 
from the farmer, you know, so now his wheelbarrow was 
quite full of money. 

“ I got a pretty fair price for that horse I must admit ! ” 
said he to himself when he got home to his own room and 
turned the money out of the wheelbarrow into a heap on the 
floor. “ What a rage Great Claus will be in when he dis- 
covers how rich I am become through my one horse, but I 
won’t tell him straight out about it.” So he sent a boy to 
Great Claus to borrow a bushel measure. 

“What does he want that for !” thought Great Claus, and 
he rubbed some tallow on the bottom, so that a little of 
whatever was to be measured might stick to it. So it did, 
for when the measure came back three new silver threepenny 
oits were sticking to it. 

“ What’s this ? ” said Great Claus, and he ran straight along 
to Little Claus. “Where on earth did you get all that 
money?” 

“Oh, that was for my horse’s hide which I sold last 
night.” 

“ That was well paid indeed,” said Great Claus, and he 
ran home, took an axe and hit all his four horses on the 
head. He then flayed them and went off to the town with the 
hides. 

“Skins, skins, who will buy skins?” he shouted up and 
down the streets. 

All the shoemakers and tanners in the town came running 
up and asked him how much he wanted for them. 


150 Great Claus and Little Claus 

“ A bushel of money for each,” said Great Claus. 

“ Are you mad ? ” they all said ; “ do you imagine we have 
money by the bushel ? ” 

“ Skins, skins, who will buy skins ? ” he shouted again, 
and the shoemakers took up their measures and the tanners 
their leather aprons, and beat Great Claus through the town. 

“Skins, skins !” they mocked him. “Yes, we’ll give you 
a raw hide. Out of the town with him ! ” they shouted, and 
Great Claus had to hurry off as fast as ever he could go. He 
had never had such a beating in his life. 

“ Little Claus shall pay for this ! ” he said when he got 
home. “ I’ll kill him for it.” 

Little Claus’ old grandmother had just died in his house ; 
she certainly had been very cross and unkind to him, but now 
that she was dead he felt quite sorry about it. He took the 
dead woman and put her into his warm bed, to see if he 
could bring her to life again. He meant her to stay there all 
night, and he would sit on a chair in the corner ; he had slept 
like that before. 

As he sat there in the night, the door opened, and in came 
Great Claus with his axe ; he knew where Little Claus’ bed 
stood, and he went straight up to it and hit the dead grand- 
mother a blow on the forehead, thinking that it was Little 
Claus. 

“Just see if you’ll cheat me again after that!” he said, 
and then he went home again. 

“ What a bad, wicked man he is,” said Little Claus ; “ he 
was going to kill me there. What a good thing that poor 
old granny was dead already, or else he would have killed 
her.” 

He now dressed his old grandmother in her best Sunday 
clothes, borrowed a horse of his neighbour, harnessed it to 
a cart, and set his grandmother on the back seat, so that she 
could not fall out when the cart moved. Then he started 
off through the wood. When the sun rose he was just out- 
side a big inn, and Little Claus drew up his horse and went 
in to get something to eat. 

The landlord was a very, very rich man, and a very good 
man, but he was fiery-tempered, as if he were made of 
pepper and tobacco. 

“Good morning !” said he to Little Claus; “you’ve got 
your best clothes on very early this morning ! ” 

“Yes,” said Little Claus ; “I’m going to town with my 


Great Claus and Little Claus 15 1 

old grandmother, she’s sitting out there in the cart, I can’t 
get her to come in. Won’t you take her out a glass of 
mead? You’ll have to shout at her, she’s very hard of 
hearing.” 

“Yes, she shall have it!” said the innkeeper, and he 
poured out a large glass of mead which he took out to the 
dead grandmother in the cart. 

“ Here is a glass of mead your son has sent ! ” said the 
innkeeper, but the dead woman sat quite still and never 
said a word. 

“ Don’t you hear ? ” shouted the innkeeper as loud as 
ever he could ; “ here is a glass of mead from your son ! ” 

Again he shouted, and then again as loud as ever, but as 
she did not stir, he got angry and threw the glass of mead 
in her face, so that the mead ran all over her, and she fell 
backwards out of the cart, for she was only stuck up and 
not tied in. 

“Now!” shouted Little Claus, as he rushed out of the 
inn and seized the landlord by the neck, “you have killed 
my grandmother ! Just look, there’s a great hole in her 
forehead ! ” 

“ Oh, what a misfortune ! ” exclaimed the innkeeper, 
clasping his hands; “that’s the consequence of my fiery 
temper ! Good Little Claus, I will give you a bushel of 
money, and bury your grandmother as if she had been my 
own, if you will only say nothing about it, or else they will 
chop my head off, and that is so nasty.” 

So Little Claus had a whole bushel of money, and the 
innkeeper buried the old grandmother just as if she had 
been his own. 

When Little Claus got home again with all his money, 
he immediately sent over his boy to Great Claus to borrow 
his measure. 

“What!” said Great Claus, “is he not dead? I shall 
have to go and see about it myself ! ” So he took the 
measure over to Little Claus himself. 

“ I say, wherever did you get all that money ? ” asked he, 
his eyes, round with amazement at what he saw. 

“ It was my grandmother you killed instead of me ! ” 
said Little Claus. “ I have sold her and got a bushel of 
money for her ! ” 

“ That was good pay indeed ! ” said Great Claus, and he 
hurried home, took an axe and killed his old grandmother. 

L 


152 Great Claus and Little Claus 

He then put her in a cart and drove off to the town with 
her where the apothecary lived, and asked if he would buy 
a dead body. 

“Who is it, and where did the body come from?” 
asked the apothecary. 

“ It is my grandmother, and I have killed her for a bushel 
of money 1 ” said Great Claus. 

“Heaven preserve us ! ” said the apothecary. “You are 
talking like a madman ; pray don’t say such things, you 
might lose your head ! ” 

And he pointed out to him what a horribly wicked thing 
he had done, and what a bad man he was who deserved 
punishment. Great Claus was so frightened that he rushed 
straight out of the shop, jumped into the cart, whipped up 
his horse and galloped home. The apothecary and every- 
one else thought he was mad, and so they let him drive off. 

“You shall be paid for this!” said Great Claus, when he 
got out on the high road. “You shall pay for this, Little 
Claus!” 

As soon as he got home, he took the biggest sack he 
could find, went over to Little Claus and said — 

“ You have deceived me again ! First I killed my horses, 
and then my old grandmother ! It’s all your fault, but you 
shan’t have the chance of cheating me again ! ” 

Then he took Little Claus by the waist and put him into 
the sack, put it on his back, and shouted to him — “I’m 
going to drown you now ! ” 

It was a long way to go before he came to the river, and 
Little Claus was not so light to carry. The road passed 
close by the church in which the organ was playing, and the 
people were singing beautifully. Great Claus put down the 
sack with Little Claus in it close by the church door, and 
thought he would like to go in and hear a psalm before he 
went any further. Little Claus could not get out of the bag, 
and all the people were in church, so he went in too. 

“ Oh dear, oh dear ! ” sighed Little Claus in the sack. 
He turned and twisted, but it was impossible to undo the 
cord. Just then an old cattle drover with white hair and a 
tall stick in his hand came along. He had a whole drove of 
-cows and bulls before him ; they ran against the sack Little 
Claus was in, and upset it. 

“ Oh dear ! ” sighed Little Claus ; “lam so young to be 
going to the Kingdom of Heaven ! ” 


Great Claus and Little Claus 153 




“ And I,” said the cattle drover, “am so old and cannot 
get there yet ! ” 

“ Open the sack ! ” shouted Little Claus. “ Get in in 
place of me, and you will get to heaven directly ! ” 

“ That will just suit me,” said the cattle drover, undoing 
the sack for Little Claus, who immediately sprang out. 
“You must look after the cattle now,” said the old man as 
he crept into the sack. Little Claus tied it up and walked 
off driving the cattle before him. 

A little while after Great Claus came out of the church, 
he took up the sack again on his back, and certainly 
thought it had grown lighter, for the old cattle drover was 
not more than half the weight of Little Claus. “ How 
light he seems to have got ; that must be because I have 
been to church and said my prayers ! ” Then he went on to 
the river, which was both wide and deep, and threw the 
sack with the old cattle drover in it into the water, shouting 
as he did so (for he thought it was Little Claus), “ Now, 
you won’t cheat me again ! ” Then he went homewards, 
but when he reached the crossroads he met Little Claus 
with his herd of cattle. 

“ What’s the meaning of this ! ” exclaimed Great Claus ; 
“ didn’t I drown you ? ” 

“Yes,” said little Claus, “it’s just about half an hour since 
you threw me into the river ! ” 

“ But where did you get all those splendid beasts ? ” asked 
Great Claus. 

“ They are sea-cattle,” said Little Claus. “ I will tell you 
the whole story, and indeed I thank you heartily for drown- 
ing me, I’m at the top of the tree now and a very rich man, 
I can tell you. I was so frightened when I was in the sack, 
the wind whistled in my ears when you threw me over the 
bridge into the cold water. I immediately sank to the 
bottom, but I was not hurt, for the grass is beautifully soft 
down there. The sack was opened at once by a beautiful 
maiden in snow-white clothes with a green wreath on her 
wet hair; she took my hand and said, ‘Are you there, Little 
Claus ? Here are some cattle for you, and a mile further 
up the road you will come upon another herd, which I will 
give you too ! ’ Then I saw that the river was a great 
highway for the sea-folk. Down at the bottom of it they 
walked and drove about, from the sea right up to the end 
of the river. The flowers were lovely and the grass was so 


154 Great Claus and Little Claus 

fresh ; the fishes which swam about glided close to me just 
like birds in the air. How nice the people were, and what 
a lot of cattle strolling about in the ditches.” 

“But why did you come straight up here again then?” 
asked Great Claus. “ I shouldn’t have done that, if it was 
so fine down there.” 

“Oh,” said Little Claus, “that’s just my cunning; you 
remember I told you that the mermaid said that a mile 
further up the road — and by the road she means the river, 
for she can’t go anywhere else — I should find another herd 
of cattle waiting for me. Well, I know how many bends 
there are in the river, and what a roundabout way it would 
be. It’s ever so much shorter if you can come up on dry 
land and take the short cuts, you save a couple of miles by 
it, and get the cattle much sooner.” 

“ Oh, you are a fortunate man ! ” said Great Claus ; “ do 
you think I should get some sea-cattle if I were to go down 
to the bottom of the river ? ” 

“I’m sure you would,” said Little Claus; “but I can’t 
carry you in the sack to the river, you’re too heavy for me. 
If you like to walk there and then get into the sack, I’ll 
throw you into the river with the greatest pleasure in the 
world.” 

“ Thank you,” said Great Claus ; “ but if I don’t get any 
sea-cattle when I get down there, see if I don’t give you a 
sound thrashing.” 

“ Oh ! don’t be so hard on me.” They then walked off 
to the river. As soon as the cattle saw the water they 
rushed down to drink for they were very thirsty. “ See 
what a hurry they’re in,” said Little Claus ; “ they want to 
get down to the bottom again.” 

“Now, help me first,” said Great Claus, “or else I’ll 
thrash you.” He then crept into a big sack which had been 
lying across the back of one of the cows. “ Put a big stone 
in, or I’m afraid I shan’t sink,” said Great Claus. 

“Oh, that’ll be all right,” said Little Claus, but he put 
a big stone into the sack and gave it a push. Plump went 
the sack and Great Claus was in the river where he sank 
to the bottom at once. 

“ I’m afraid he wont find any cattle,” said Little Claus, 
as he drove his herd home. 


The Garden of Paradise 


There was once a king’s son; nobody had so many or 
such beautiful books as he had. He could read about 
everything which had ever happened in this world, and see 
it all represented in the most beautiful pictures. He could 
get information about every nation and every country ; but 
as to where the Garden of Paradise was to be found, not a 
word could he discover, and this was the very thing he 
thought most about. His grandmother had told him when 
he was quite a little fellow and was about to begin his 
school life, that every flower in the Garden of Paradise was 
a delicious cake, and that the pistils were full of wine. In 
one flower history was written, in another geography or 
tables, you had only to eat the cake and you knew the 
lesson. The more you ate, the more history, geography 
and tables you knew. All this he believed then ; but as he 
^.rew older and wiser and learnt more, he easily perceived 
that the delights of the Garden of Paradise must be far 
beyond all this. 

“ Oh, why did Eve take of the tree of knowledge ! Why 
did Adam eat the forbidden fruit! If it had only been I it 
would not have happened! never would sin have entered 
the world ! ” 

This is what he said then, and he still said it when he 
was seventeen ; his thoughts were full of the Garden of 
Paradise. 

He walked into the wood one day ; he was alone, for 
that was his greatest pleasure. Evening came on, the clouds 
drew up and it rained as if the whole heaven had become 
a sluice from which the water poured in sheets ; it was as 
dark as it is otherwise in the deepest well. Now he slipped 
on the wet grass, and then he fell on the bare stones which 
jutted out of the rocky ground. Everything was dripping, 
and at last the poor Trince hadn’t got a dry thread on him. 
He had to climb over huge rocks where the water oozed 

i55 


156 The Garden of Paradise * 

out of the thick moss. He was almost fainting ; just then 
he heard a curious murmuring and saw in front of him a 
big lighted cave. A fire was burning in the middle, big 
enough to roast a stag, which was in fact being done ; a 
splendid stag with its huge antlers was stuck on a spit, 
being slowly turned round between the hewn trunks of two 
fir trees. An oldish woman, tall and strong enough to be a 
man dressed up, sat by the fire throwing on logs from time 
to time. 

“ Come in by all means ! ” she said ; “ sit down by the 
fire so that your clothes may dry !” 

“ There is a shocking draught here,” said the Prince, as 
he sat down on the ground. 

“It will be worse than this when my sons come home !” 
said the woman. “You are in the cavern of the winds; 
my sons are the four winds of the world ! Do you 
understand ? ” 

“ Who are your sons ? ” asked the Prince. 

“ Well that’s not so easy to answer when the question is 
stupidly put,” said the woman. “ My sons do as they like, 
they are playing rounders now with the clouds up there in 
the great hall,” and she pointed up into the sky. 

“Oh indeed!” said the prince. “You seem to speak 
very harshly, and you are not so gentle as the women I 
generally see about me ! ” 

“ Oh I daresay they have nothing else to do ! I have to 
be harsh if I am to keep my boys under control ! But I 
can do it, although they are a stiff-necked lot ! Do you see 
those four sacks hanging on the wall ? They are just as 
frightened of them as you used to be of the cane behind the 
looking glass. I can double the boys up, I can tell you, and 
then they have to go into- the bag ; we don’t stand upon 
ceremony, and there they have to stay ; they can’t get out 
to play their tricks till it suits me to let them. But here we 
have one of them.” It was the Northwind who came in with 
an icy blast, great hailstones peppered about the floor and 
snowflakes drifted in. He was dressed in bearskin trousers 
and jacket, and he had a sealskin cap drawn over his ears. 
Long icicles were hanging from his beard, and one hail- 
stone after another dropped down from the collar of his 
jacket. 

“Don’t go straight to the fire,” said the Prince. “You 
might easily get chilblains ! ” 


The Garden of Paradise 157 

“Chilblains!” said the Northwind with a loud laugh. 
“ Chilblains ! they are my greatest delight ! What sort of 
a feeble creature are you ? How did you get into the cave 
of the winds ? ” 

“ He is my guest,” said the old woman, “ and if you are 
not pleased with that explanation you may go into the bag ! 
Now you know my opinion ! ” 

This had its effect, and the Northwind told them where 
he came from, and where he had been for the last month. 

“ I come from the Arctic seas,” he said. “ I have been 
on Behring Island with the Russian walrus-hunters. I sat 
at the helm and slept when they sailed from the north cape, 
and when I woke now and then the stormy petrels were 
flying about my legs ; they are queer birds ; they give a 
brisk flap with their wings and then keep them stretched out 
and motionless, and even then they have speed enough.” 

“ Pray don't be too long winded,” said the mother of the 
winds. “ So at last you got to Behring Island ! ” 

“ It’s perfectly splendid ! there you have a floor to dance 
upon, as flat as a pancake, half-thawed snow, with moss ; 
there were bones of whales and Polar bears lying about, 
they looked like the legs and arms of giants covered with 
green mould. One would think that the sun had never 
shone on them. I gave a little puff to the fog so that one 
could see the shed. It was a house built of wreckage and 
covered with the skins of whales ; the flesh side was turned 
outwards ; it was all red and green ; a living Polar bear sat 
on the roof growling. I went to the shore and looked at the 
birds’ nests, looked at the unfledged young ones screaming 
and gaping ; then I blew down thousands of their throats 
and they learnt to shut their mouths. Lower down the 
walruses were rolling about like monster maggots with pig’s 
heads and teeth a yard long ! ” 

“ You’re a good story teller, my boy ! ” said his mother. 
“ It makes my mouth water to hear you ! ” 

“Then there was a hunt! The harpoons were plunged 
into the walruses’ breasts and the steaming blood spurted 
out of them, like fountains over the ice. Then I remem- 
bered my part of the game ! I blew up and made my ships, 
the mountain-high icebergs, nip the boats ; whew ! how they 
whistled and how they screamed, but I whistled louder. 
They were obliged to throw the dead walruses, chests and 
ropes out upon the ice ! I shook the snowflakes over them 


158 The Garden of Paradise 

and let them drift southwards to taste the salt water. They 
will never come back to Behring Island ! ” 

“ Then you’ve been doing evil 1 ” said the mother of the 
winds. 

“ What good I did, the others may tell you,” said he. 
“ But here we have my brother from the west ; I like him 
best of all, he smells of the sea and brings a splendid cool 
breeze with him ! ” 

“ Is that the little Zephyr ?” asked the Prince. 

“ Yes, certainly it is Zephyr, but he is not so little as all 
that. He used to be a pretty boy once, but that’s gone 
by!” 

He looked like a wild man of the woods, but he had a 
padded hat on so as not to come to any harm. He carried 
a mahogany club cut in the American mahogany forests. 
It could not be anything less than that. 

“ Where do you come from ? ” asked his mother. 

“From the forest wildernesses!” he said, “where the 
thorny creepers make a fence between every tree, where the 
water-snake lies in the w r et grass and where human beings 
seem to be superfluous ! ” 

“ What did you do there ? ” 

“ I looked at the mighty river, saw where it dashed over 
the rocks in dust and flew with the clouds to carry the 
rainbow. I saw the wild buffalo swimming in the river, but 
the stream carried him away, he floated with the wild duck, 
which soared into the sky at the rapids ; but the buffalo was 
carried over with the water. I liked that and blew a storm, 
so that the primeval trees had to sail too, and they were 
whirled about like shavings.” 

“ And you have done nothing else ? ” asked the old 
woman. 

“ I have been turning somersaults in the Savannahs, 
patting the wild horse, and shaking down cocoa-nuts ! Oh, 
yes, I have plenty of stories to tell ! But one need not 
tell everything. You know that very well, old woman ! ” 
and then he kissed his mother so heartily that she nearly 
fell backwards ; he was indeed a w’ild boy. 

The Southwind appeared now in a turban and a flowing 
bedouin’s cloak. 

“ Itjis fearfully cold in here,’ he said, throwing wood on 
the fire; “it is easy to see that the Northwind got here 
first ! ” 


The Garden of Paradise 159 

“ It is hot enough here to roast a polar bear,” said the 
Northwind. 

“ You are a polar bear yourself! ” said the Southwind. 

“ Do you want to go into the bag ? ” asked the old 
woman. “ Sit down on that stone and tell us where you 
have been.” 

“ In Africa, mother ! ” he answered. “ I have been 
chasing the lion with the Hottentots in Kaffirland ! What 
grass there is on those plains ! as green as an olive. The 
gnu was dancing about, and the ostriches ran races with me 
but I am still the fastest. I went to the desert with its 
yellow sand. It looks like the bottom of the sea. I met a 
caravan ! They were killing their last camel to get water to 
drink, but it wasn’t much they got. The sun was blazing 
above, and the sand burning below. There were no limits 
to the outstretched desert. Then I burrowed into the fine 
loose sand and whirled it up in great columns — that was a 
dance ! You should have seen how despondently the 
dromedaries stood, and the merchant drew his caftan over 
his head. He threw himself down before me as if I had 
been Allah, his god. Now they are buried, and there is a 
pyramid of sand over them all ; when I blow it away, some- 
time the sun will bleach their bones, and then travellers will 
see that people have been there before, otherwise you would 
hardly believe it in the desert ! ” 

“ Then you have only been doing harm ! ” said the 
mother. “ Into the bag you go ! ” And before he knew 
where he was she had the Southwind by the waist and in the 
bag ; it rolled about on the ground, but she sat down upon 
it and then it had to be quiet. 

“ Your sons are lively fellows! ” said the Prince. 

“ Yes, indeed,” she said ; “ but I can master them ! Here 
comes the fourth.” 

It was the Eastwind, and he was dressed like a China- 
man. 

“Oh, have you come from that quarter?” said the 
mother. “ I thought you had been in the garden of 
Paradise.” 

“ I am only going there to-morrow ! ” said the Eastwind. 
“ It will be a hundred years to-morrow since I have been 
there. I have just come from China, where I danced 
round the porcelain tower till all the bells jingled. The 
officials were flogged in the streets, the bamboo canes were 


i6o The Garden of Paradise 

broken over their shoulders, and they were all people 
ranging from the first to the ninth rank. They shrieked 
‘Many thanks, Father and benefactor,’ but they didn’t 
mean what they said, and I went on ringing the bells and 
singing ‘ Tsing, tsang, tsu ! ’ ” 

“ You’re quite uproarious about it ! ” said the old woman. 
“ It’s a good thing you are going to the Garden of Paradise 
to-morrow ; it always has a good effect on your behaviour. 
Mind you drink deep of the well of wisdom, and bring a 
little bottleful home to me.” 

“ That I will,” said the Eastwind. “ But why have you 
put my brother from the south into the bag ? Out with 
him ! He must tell me about the phoenix ; the Princess 
always wants to hear about that bird when I call every 
hundred years. Open the bag ! then you’ll be my sweetest 
mother, and I’ll give you two pockets full of tea as green 
and fresh as when I picked it ! ” 

“ Well for the sake of the tea, and because you are my 
darling, I will open my bag ! ” 

She did open it and the Southwind crept out, but he was 
quite crestfallen because the strange Prince had seen his 
disgrace. 

“ Here is a palm leaf for the Princess ! ” said the South- 
wind. “The old phoenix, the only one in the world, gave it 
to me. He has scratched his whole history on it with his 
bill, for the hundred years of his life, and she can read it 
for herself. I saw how the phoenix set fire to his nest himself 
and sat on it while it burnt, like the widow of a Hindoo. 
Oh how the dry branches crackled, how it smoked, and what 
a smell there was. At last it all burst into flame, the old 
bird was burnt to ashes, but his egg lay glowing in the fire, 
it broke with a loud bang and the young one flew out. Now 
it rules over all the birds and it is the only phoenix in the 
world. He bit a hole in the leaf I gave you, that is his 
greeting to the Princess.” 

“ Let us have something to eat now ! ” said the mother of 
the winds ; and they all sat down to eat the roast stag, and 
the Prince sat by the side of the Eastwind, so they soon 
became good friends. 

“I say,” said the Prince, “just tell me who is this 
Princess, and where is the Garden of Paradise ? ” 

“ Oh ho ! ” said the Eastwind, “ if that is where you want 
to go you must fly with me to-morrow. But I may as well 


The Garden of Paradise 161 

tell you that no human being has been there since Adam 
and Eve’s time. You know all about them I suppose from 
your Bible stories ? ” 

“ Of course,” said the Prince. 

“ When they were driven away the Garden of Eden sank 
into the ground, but it kept its warm sunshine, its mild air, 
and all its charms. The queen of the fairies lives there. 
The island of Bliss, where death never enters, and where 
living is a delight, is there. Get on my back to-morrow and 
I will take you with me ; I think I can manage it 1 But you 
mustn’t talk now, I want to go to sleep.” 

When the Prince woke up in the early morning, he was not 
a little surprised to find that he was already high above the 
clouds. He was sitting on the back of the Eastwind, who 
was holding him carefully ; they were so high up that 
woods and fields, rivers and lakes, looked like a large 
coloured map. 

“Good morning,” said the Eastwind. “You may as well 
sleep a little longer for there is not much to be seen in this 
flat country below us, unless you want to count the churches. 
They look like chalk dots on the green board.” 

He called the fields and meadows “ the green board.” 

“It was very rude of me to leave without saying good-bye 
to your mother and brothers,” said the Prince. 

“ One is excused when one is asleep ! ” said the Eastwind, 
and they flew on faster than ever. You could mark their 
flight by the rustling of the trees as they passed over the 
woods ; and whenever they crossed a lake, or the sea, the 
waves rose and the great ships dipped low down in the 
water, like floating swans. Towards evening the large towns 
were amusing as it grew dark, with all their lights twinkling 
now here, now there, just as when one burns a piece of paper 
and sees all the little sparks like children coming home from 
school. The Prince clapped his hands, but the Eastwind 
told him he had better leave off and hold tight, or he might 
fall and find himself hanging on to a church steeple. 

The eagle in the great forest flew swiftly, but the Eastwind 
flew more swiftly still. The Kossack on his little horse sped 
fast over the plains, but the Prince sped faster still. 

“ Now you can see the Himalayas ! ” said the Eastwind. 
“They are the highest mountains in Asia; we shall soon 
reach the Garden of Paradise.” 

They took a more southerly direction, and the air became 


1 62 The Garden of Paradise 

scented with spices and flowers. Figs and pomegranates 
grew wild, and the wild vines were covered with blue and 
green grapes. They both descended here and stretched 
themselves on the soft grass, where the flowers nodded to 
the wind, as much as to say, “ Welcome back.” 

“Are we in the Garden of Paradise now?” asked the 
Prince. 

“No, certainly not!” answered the Eastwind. “But we 
shall soon be there. Do you see that wall of rock and the 
great cavern where the wild vine hangs like a big curtain ? 
We have to go through there ! Wrap yourself up in your 
cloak, the sun is burning here, but a step further on it is icy 
cold. The bird which flies past the cavern has one wing out 
here in the heat of summer, and the other is there in the 
cold of winter.” 

“ So that is the way to the Garden of Paradise ! ” said the 
Frince. 

Now they entered the cavern. Oh, how icily cold it was, 
but it did not last long. The Eastwind spread his wings, 
and they shone like the brightest flame ; but what a cave it 
was ! Large blocks of stone, from which the water dripped, 
hung over them in the most extraordinary shapes ; at one 
moment it was so low and narrow that they had to crawl on 
hands and knees, the next it was as wide and lofty as if they 
were in the open air. It looked like a chapel of the dead, 
with mute organ pipes and petrified banners. 

“ We seem to be journeying along Death’s road to the 
Garden of Paradise ! ” said the Prince, but the Eastwind 
never answered a word, he only pointed before them where 
a beautiful blue light was shining. The blocks of stone 
above them grew dimmer and dimmer, and at last they 
became as transparent as a white cloud in the moonshine. 
The air was also deliciously soft, as fresh as on the mountain 
tops and as scented as down among the roses in the 
valley. 

A river ran there as clear as the air itself, and the fish in 
it were like gold and silver. Purple eels which gave out blue 
sparks with every curve, gambolled about in the water ; and 
the broad leaves of the water-lilies were tinged with the hues 
of the rainbow, while the flower itself w r as like a fiery orange 
flame, nourished by the water, just as oil keeps a lamp con- 
stantly burning. A firm bridge of marble as delicately and 
skilfully carved as if it were lace and glass beads led over the 


The Garden of Paradise 163 

water to the Island of Bliss, where the Garden of Paradise 
bloomed. 

The Eastwind took the Prince in his arms and bore him- 
over. The flowers and leaves there sang all the beautiful old 
songs of his childhood, but sang them more wonderfully 
than any human voice could sing them. 

Were these palm trees or giant water plants growing here ? 
The Prince had never seen such rich and mighty trees. The 
most wonderful climbing plants hung in wreaths, such as are 
only to be found pictured in gold and colours on the margins 
of old books of the Saints or entwined among their initial 
letters. It was the most extraordinary combination of birds, 
flowers, and scrolls. 

Close by on the grass stood a flock of peacocks with their 
brilliant tails outspread. Yes, indeed, it seemed so, but 
when the Prince touched them he saw that they were not 
birds but plants. They were big dock leaves, which shone 
like peacocks’ tails. Lions and tigers sprang like agile cats 
among the green hedges, which were scented with the 
blossom of the olive, and the lion and the tiger were tame. 
The wild dove, glistening like a pearl, beat the lion’s mane 
with his wings ; and the antelope, otherwise so shy, stood by 
nodding, just as if he wanted to join the game. 

The Fairy of the Garden now advanced to meet them ; her 
garments shone like the sun, and her face beamed like that 
of a happy mother rejoicing over her child. She was young 
and very beautiful, and w r as surrounded by a band of lovely 
girls each with a gleaming star in her hair. 

When the Eastwind gave her the inscribed leaf from the 
Thcenix her eyes sparkled with delight. She took the 
Prince’s hand and led him into her palace, where the walls 
were the colour of the brightest tulips in the sunlight. The 
ceiling was one great shining flower, and the longer one 
gazed into it the deeper the calyx seemed to be. The Prince 
went to the window, and looking through one of the panes 
saw the Tree of Knowledge, with the Serpent, and Adam and 
Eve standing by. 

“Are they not driven out?” he asked, and the Fairy 
smiled and explained that Time had burned a picture into 
each pane, but not of the kind one usually sees ; they were 
alive, the leaves on the trees moved, and people came and 
went like the reflections in a mirror. 

Then he looked through another pane, and he sav- 


164 The Garden of Paradise 

Jacob’s dream, with the ladder going straight up into 
heaven, and angels with great wings were fluttering up and 
down. All that had ever happened in this world lived 
and moved on these window panes ; only Time could 
imprint such wonderful pictures. 

The Fairy smiled and led him into a large, lofty room, 
the walls of which were like transparent paintings of faces, 
one more beautiful than the other. These were millions 
of the Blessed who smiled and sang, and all their songs 
melted into one perfect melody. The highest ones were 
so tiny that they seemed smaller than the very smallest 
rosebud, no bigger than a pinpoint in a drawing. In the 
middle of the room stood a large tree, with handsome 
drooping branches; golden apples, large and small, hung 
like oranges among its green leaves. It was the Tree of 
Knowledge, of whose fruit Adam and Eve had eaten. 
From every leaf hung a shining red drop of dew, it was as 
if the tree wept tears of blood. 

“ Now let us get into the boat,” said the Fairy. “ We 
shall find refreshment on the swelling waters. The boat 
rocks, but it does not move from the spot, all the countries 
of the world will pass before our eyes.” 

It was a curious sight to see the whole coast move. 
Here came lofty snow-clad Alps, with their clouds and 
dark fir trees. The horn echoed sadly among them, and 
the shepherd yodelled sweetly in the valleys. Then banian 
trees bent their long drooping branches over the boat, 
black swans floated on the water, and the strangest animals 
and flowers appeared on the shore. This was New Holland, 
the fifth portion of the world, which glided past them with 
a view of its blue mountains. They heard the song of 
priests, and saw the dances of the savages to the sound of 
drums and pipes of bone. The pyramids of Egypt reaching 
to the clouds, with fallen columns, and Sphynxes half 
buried in sand, next sailed past them. Then came the 
Aurora Borealis blazing over the peaks of the north ; they 
were fireworks which could not be imitated. The Prince 
was so happy, and he saw a hundred times more than we 
have described. 

“ Can I stay here always ? ” he asked. 

“ That depends upon yourself,” answered the Fairy. “ If 
you do not, like Adam, allow yourself to be tempted to do 
what is forbidden, you can stay here always.” 


The Garden of Paradise 165 

“ I will not touch the apples on the Tree of Knowledge,” 
said the Prince. “ There are thousands of other fruits here 
as beautiful.” 

“Test yourself, and if you are not strong enough, go 
back with the Eastwind who brought you. He is going 
away now, and will not come back for a hundred years ; the 
time will fly in this place like a hundred hours, but that 
is a long time for temptation and sin. Every evening when 
I leave you I must say ‘ come with me/ and I must beckon 
to you, but stay behind. Do not come with me, for with 
every step you take your longing will grow stronger. You 
will reach the hall where grows the Tree of Knowledge ; I 
sleep beneath its fragrant drooping branches. You will bend 
over me and I must smile, but if you press a kiss upon my 
lips Paradise will sink deep down into the earth, and it will 
be lost to you. The sharp winds of the wilderness will 
whistle round you, the cold rain will drop from your hair. 
Sorrow and labour will be your lot.” 

“ I will remain here ! ” said the Prince. 

And the Eastwind kissed him on the mouth and said : 
“ Be strong, then we shall meet again in a hundred years. 
Farewell ! Farewell ! ” and the Eastwind spread his great 
wings, they shone like poppies at the harvest time, or the 
Northern Lights in a cold winter. 

“Good-bye! good-bye!” whispered the flowers. Storks 
and pelicans flew in a line like waving ribbons, conducting 
him to the boundaries of the Garden. 

“Now we begin our dancing !” said the Fairy; “at the 
end when I dance with you, as the sun goes down you will 
see me beckon to you and cry ‘ Come with me * ; but do 
not come. I have to repeat it every night for a hundred 
years. Every time you resist, you will grow stronger, and 
at last you will not even think of following. To-night is 
the first time. Remember my warning ! ” 

And the Fairy led him into a large hall of white trans- 
parent lilies, the yellow stamens in each formed a little 
golden harp which echoed the sound of strings and flutes. 
Lovely girls, slender and lissom, dressed in floating gauze 
which revealed their exquisite limbs, glided in the dance, 
and sang of the joy of living — that they would never die — 
and that the Garden of Paradise would bloom for ever. 

The sun went down and the sky was bathed in golden 
light which gave the lilies the effect of roses; and the 


166 The Garden of Paradise 

Prince drank of the foaming wine handed to him by the 
maidens. He felt such joy as he had never known before ; 
he saw the background of the hall opening where the Tree 
of Knowledge stood in a radiancy which blinded him. 
The song proceeding from it was soft and lovely, like his 
mother’s voice, and she seemed to say, “ My child, my 
beloved child ! ” 

Then the Fairy beckoned to him and said so tenderly, 
“ Come with me,” that he rushed towards her, forgetting 
his promise, forgetting everything on the very first evening 
that she smiled and beckoned to him. 

The fragrance in the scented air around grew stronger, 
the harps sounded sweeter than ever, and it seemed as if 
the millions of smiling heads in the hall where the Tree 
grew, nodded and sang, “ One must know everything. Man 
is lord of the earth.” They were no longer tears of blood 
which fell from the Tree, it seemed to him that they were 
red shining stars. 

“ Come with me, come with me,” spoke those trembling 
tones, and at every step the Prince’s cheeks burnt hotter 
and hotter and his blood coursed more rapidly. 

“ I must go,” he said, “ it is no sin, I must see her 
asleep, nothing will be lost if I do not kiss her, and that 
I will not do. My will is strong.” 

The Fairy dropped her shimmering garment, drew back 
the branches and a moment after was hidden within their 
depths. 

“ I have not sinned yet ! ” said the Prince, nor will I,” 
then he drew back the branches. There she lay asleep 
already, beautiful as only the Fairy in the Garden of 
Paradise can be. She smiled in her dreams ; he bent 
over her and saw the tears welling up under her eyelashes. 

“Do you weep for me?” he whispered. “Weep not, 
beautiful maiden. I only now understand the full bliss of 
Paradise; it surges through my blood and through my 
thoughts. I feel the strength of the angels and of everlast- 
ing life in my mortal limbs ! If it were to be everlasting 
night to me, a moment like this were worth it ! ” and he 
kissed away the tears from her eyes ; his mouth touched 
hers. 

Then came a sound like thunder, louder and more awful 
than any he had ever heard before, and everything around 
collapsed. The beautiful Fairy, the flowery Paradise sank 


The Garden of Paradise 167 

deeper and deeper. The Prince saw it sink into the dark- 
ness of night ; it shone far off like a little tiny twinkling 
star. The chill of death crept over his limbs ; he closed 
his eyes and lay long as if dead. 

The cold rain fell on his face, and the sharp wind blew 
around his head, and at last his memory came back. “What 
have I done?” he sighed. “I have sinned like Adam, 
sinned so heavily that Paradise has sunk low beneath the 
earth!” And he opened his eyes; he could still see the 
star, the far away star, which twinkled like Paradise ; it was 
the morning star in the sky. He got up and found himself 
in the wood near the cave of the winds, and the mother of 
the winds sat by his side. She looked angry and raised her 
hand. 

“So soon as the first evening !” she said. “ I thought as 
much ; if you were my boy, you should go into the bag ! ” 

“ Ah, he shall soon go there ! ” said Death. He was a 
strong old man, with a scythe in his hand and great black 
wings. “ He shall be laid in a coffin, but not now ; I only 
mark him and then leave him for a time to wander about on 
the earth to expiate his sin and to grow better. I will come 
some time. When he least expects me, I shall come back, 
lay him in a black coffin, put it on my head, and fly to the 
skies. The Garden of Paradise blooms there too, and if he 
is good and holy he shall enter into it; but if his thoughts 
are wicked and his heart still full of sin, he will sink deeper 
in his coffin than Paradise sank, and I shall only go once in 
every thousand years to see if he is to sink deeper or to rise 
to the stars, the twinkling stars up there.” 


M 


Little Tuk 


Now there was little Tuk; as a matter of fact his name was 
not Tuk at all, but before he could speak properly he called 
himself Tuk. He meant it for Carl, so it is just as well we 
should know that. He had to look after his sister Gustave, 
who was much smaller than he was, and then he had his 
lessons to do, but these two things were rather difficult to 
manage at the same time. The poor boy sat with his little 
sister on his lap and sang all the songs he knew, at the same 
time glancing at his geography book which was open in front 
of him. Before the next morning he had to know all the 
towns in the island of Zealand by heart, and everything there 
was to know about them. 

At last his mother came home, for she had been out, and 
then she took little Gustave. Tuk ran to the window and 
read as hard as ever he could, for it was getting dark, and 
mother could not afford to buy candles. 

“There’s the old washerwoman from the lane,” said his 
mother, as she looked out of the window. “ She can hardly 
carry herself, and yet she has to carry the pail from the 
pump; run down little Tuk and be a dear boy. Help the 
old woman ! ” 

Tuk jumped up at once and ran to help her, but when 
he got home again it was quite dark, and it was useless to 
talk about candles, he had to go to bed. He had an old 
turn-up bed, and he lay in it thinking about his geography 
lesson, the island of Zealand, and all that the teacher had 
told him. He ought to have been learning the lesson, but 
of course he could not do that now. He put the geography 
book under his pillow, because he had heard that this would 
help him considerably to remember his lesson, but that can’t 
be depended upon. 

He lay there thinking and thinking, and then all at once 
it seemed just as if some one kissed him on his eyes and 
his mouth, and he fell asleep, yet he was not quite asleep 

x68 


169 


was 


Little Tuk 

either. It seemed to him as if the old washerwoman 
looking at him with her kind eyes and 
saying : “ It would be a great shame if 
you were not to know your lesson. You 
helped me, and now I will help you, 
and Our Lord will always help you.” 

And all at once the book under his head 
went “cribble crabble.” 

“Cluck, cluck, cluck!” and there 
stood a hen from the town of Kioge. 

“ I am a Kioge hen,” and then it told 
him how many inhabitants there were, 
and about the battle which had taken 
place there, which after all was not a 
very important one. 

“ Cribble, crabble, bang ! ” something 
plumped down ; it was a wooden bird 
which now made its appearance — the 
popinjay from the Shooting Association 
in Praesto. It told him that there were 
just as many inhabitants as it had nails 
in its body, and it was very proud of 
this. “ Thorvaldsen used to live close 
by my corner ; the situation is beautiful.” 

Now little Tuk no longer lay in bed, 
he was on horseback. Gallop a gallop 
he went. He was sitting in front of a 
splendidly dressed knight with a shining 
helmet and a waving plume. They rode 
through the woods to the old town of 
Vordingborg , 1 and this was a big and 
populous town. The castle towered 
over the royal city, and the lights shone 
through the windows ; there was dancing 
and singing within, and King Waldemar 
led out the stately young court ladies to 
the dance. Morning came, and as the 
sun rose the town sank away and the 
king’s palace, one tower after the other ; 
at last only one tower remained on the 
hill where the castle had stood, and the 

1 Under King Waldemar a place of great importance, now insignifi- 
cant, only one of the towers of its castle remaining. 


170 Little Tuk 

town had become tiny and very poor. The schoolboys came 
along with their books under their arms, and they said “ two 
thousand inhabitants,” but that was not true, there were not 
so many. 

Little Tuk was still lying in his bed ; first he thought he 
was dreaming, and then he thought he was not dreaming, 
but there was somebody close to him. 

A sailor, a tiny little fellow, who might have been a 
cadet, but he was not a cadet, was saying to him, “ Little 
Tuk ! Little Tuk ! I am to greet you warmly from Korsoer,” 
which is a rising town. It is a flourishing town, which has 
steamers and coaches. At one time it used to be called 
a tiresome town , 1 but that was an old-fashioned opinion. 
“ I lie close to the sea,” says Korsoer. “ I have good high 
roads and pleasure gardens, I have given birth to a poet 
who was amusing, and that is more than they all are. 
I wanted to send a ship round the world, I did not do it, 
but I might have done it ; then there is the most delicious 
scent about me, because there are beautiful rose gardens 
close by the gates ! ” 

Little Tuk saw them, the green and red flowering 
branches passed before his eyes ; and then they vanished 
and changed into wooded heights, sloping to the clear 
waters of the fiord. A stately old church towered over the 
fiord, with its twin spires. Springs of water flowed from the 
cliff and rushed down in rapid bubbling streams. Close by 
them sat an old king with a golden crown round his flowing 
locks ; this was King Hroar of the Springs and Roeskilde , 2 
(llroars-springs) is now the name of the town. Down over 
the slopes and past the springs, walked hand in hand all 
Denmark’s kings and queens wearing their crowns. On 
and on they went into the old church, to the pealing music 
of the organ, and the rippling of the springs. “ Don’t 
forget the Estates of the Realm,” said King Hroar. All at 
once everything vanished — where were they ? Now an old 
peasant woman stood before Tuk; she was a weeding 
woman, and came from Soro, where the grass grows on the 
market-place. She had put her grey linen apron over her 
head and shoulders, it was soaking wet, there must have 

\It was a dull town on the Great Belt before the establishment of 
steamboats. Birthplace of the poet Baggesen. 

a The former capital of Denmark, and the burial-place of all the 
Danish kings and queens. 


Little Tuk 17 1 

been rain. “Yes, indeed, it has been raining,” she said. 
She knew some of the comic parts of Holberg’s plays, and 
she knew all about Waldemar and Absolom ; just as she was 
going to tell him these stories she shrank up and wagged 
her head, it looked just as if she was about to take a leap. 
“ Koax,” she said, “ it is wet, it is wet, it is dull as ditch 
water — in good old Soro!” She had become a frog, 
“koax,” and then once more she was the old woman. 
“One must dress according to the weather!” said she. 
“It is wet, it is wet, my town is like a bottle, you get in by 
the neck, and you have to come out the same way again ! 
I used to have beautiful fish 1 there once, now I have rosy- 
cheeked boys down at the bottom of the bottle ; they get 
a great deal of wisdom there ; Greek ! Greek ! 2 Hebrew ! 
koax ! ” It was just like the croaking of frogs or the 
creaking of fishing boots when you walk in a swamp. It 
was always the same sound, so tiresome, so tiresome that 
little Tuk fell into a deep sleep, which was the best thing 
for him. 

But even in this sound sleep he had a dream, or some- 
thing of the sort. His little sister, Gustave, with the blue 
eyes and golden, curly hair, had all at once become a lovely 
grown up girl, and without having wings she could fly. 
They flew together right across Zealand, over the green 
woods and deep blue waters. 

“ Do you hear the cock crowing, little Tuk ? Cock-a- 
doodle-doo. The hens come flying up from Kioge town. 
You shall have such a big, big chicken yard. You will be 
a rich and happy man ! Your house shall hold up its head 
like King Waldemar’s towers, and it shall be richly built 
up with marble statues, like those in Presto. You understand 
me, I suppose. Your name will spread round the world 
with praise, like the ship which was to have sailed from 
Korsoer ; and it will be known in Roeskilde town.” 

“Remember the Estates of the Realm,” said King Hroar. 

“ You shall speak well and wisely in Parliament, little 
Tuk; and when you are in your grave you shall sleep as 
quietly as ” 

“ As if I were in Soro ! ” said little Tuk, and then he 
woke up. It was bright daylight, and he remembered 

1 Mailer, Siluris glanis, only found in Soro Lake, and now extinct. 

2 Soro is an old public school, founded by Ilolberg, the Danish 
Moliere. 


172 Little Tuk 

nothing about his dream ; but that was as it should be, 
one must not look into the future. 

He sprang out of bed and read his book till he knew 
his lesson, which he did almost at once. The old washer- 
woman put her head in at the door, nodded to him, and 
said — 

“Many thanks for your help yesterday, you dear child! 
May the Lord fulfil the dream of your heart ! ” 

Little Tuk did not know a bit what he had dreamt, but 
One above knew all about it ! 



The Wind’s Tale 

About Waldemar Daa and his Daughters 

When the wind sweeps across a field of grass it makes 
little ripples in it like a lake; in a field of corn it makes 
great waves like the sea itself ; this is the wind’s frolic. 
Then listen to the stories it tells ; it sings them aloud, one 
kind of song among the trees of the forest, and a very 
different one when it is pent up within walls with all their 
cracks and crannies. Do you see how the wind chases the 
white fleecy clouds as if they were a flock of sheep ? Do 
you hear the wind down there, howling in the open doorway like 
a watchman winding his horn ? Then, too, how he whistles in 
the chimneys, making the fire crackle and sparkle. How 
cosy it is to sit in the warm glow of the fire listening to the 
tales it has to tell ! Let the wind tell its own story 1 It can 
tell you more adventures than all of us put together. Listen 
now : — 

“ Whew ! — Whew ! — Fare away ! ” That was the refrain 
of his song. 

“Close to the Great Belt stands an old mansion with 
thick red walls,” says the wind. “ I know every stone of it, 
I knew them before when they formed part of Marsk Stig’s 
Castle on the Ness; it had to come down. The stones 
were used again, and made a new wall of a new castle in 
another place, Borreby Hall as it now stands. 

“ I have watched the high born men and women of all the 
various races who have lived there, and now I am going to 
tell you about Waldemar Daa and his daughters ! 

“ He held his head very high for he came of a royal stock ! 
He knew more than the mere chasing of a stag, or the 
emptying of a flagon; he knew how to manage his affairs, 
he said himself. 

“ His lady wife walked proudly across the brightly polished 

*73 


174 The Wind’s Tale 

floors, in her gold brocaded kirtle; the tapestries in the 
rooms were gorgeous, and the furniture of costly carved woods. 
She had brought much gold and silver plate into the house 
with her, and the cellars were full of German ale, when there 
was anything there at all. Fiery black horses neighed in the 
stables ; Borreby Hall was a very rich place when wealth 
came there. 

“Then there were the children, three dainty maidens, Ida, 
Johanna and Anna Dorothea. I remember their names 
well. 

“They were rich and aristocratic people, and they were 
born and bred in wealth! Whew! — whew! — fare away!” 
roared the wind, then he went on with his story. 

“I did not see here, as in other old noble castles the high 
born lady sitting among her maidens in the great hall turn- 
ing the spinning wheel. No, she played upon the ringing 
lute, and sang to its tones. Her songs were not always the 
old Danish ditties, however, but songs in foreign tongues. 
All was life and hospitality, noble guests came from far and 
wide; there were sounds of music and the clanging of 
flagons, so loud that I could not drown them ! ” said the 
wind. “ Here were arrogance and ostentation enough and 
to spare ; plenty of lords, but the Lord had no place there. 

“ Then came the evening of May-day ! ” said the wind. 
“ I came from the west ; I had been watching ships being 
wrecked and broken up on the west coast of Jutland. I 
tore over the heaths and the green wooded coasts, across 
the island of Funen and over the Great Belt puffing and 
blowing. I settled down to rest on the coast of Zealand 
close to Borreby Hall where the splendid forest of oaks 
still stood. The young bachelors of the neighbourhood 
came out and collected faggots and branches, the longest 
and driest they could find. These they took to the town, 
piled them up in a heap, and set fire to them ; then the men 
and maidens danced and sang round the bonfire. I lay 
still,” said the wind, “ but I softly moved a branch, the one 
laid by the handsomest young man, and his billet blazed up 
highest of all. He was the chosen one, he had the name of 
honour, he became ‘Buck of the Street!’ and he chose 
from among the girls his little May-lamb. All was life and 
merriment, greater far than within rich Borreby Hall. 

“ The great lady came driving towards the Hall, in her 
gilded chariot drawn by six horses. She had her three 


The Wind’s Tale 175 

dainty daughters with her, they were indeed three lovely 
flowers. A rose, a lily and a pale hyacinth. The mother 
herself was a gorgeous tulip, she took no notice whatever 
of the crowd, who all stopped in their game to drop their 
curtseys and make their bows; one might have thought, 
that like a tulip, she was rather frail in the stalk and feared 
to bend her back. The rose, the lily, and the pale hyacinth, 
yes I saw them all three. Whose May-lambs were they one 
day to become, thought I ; their mates would be proud 
knights — perhaps even princes ! 

“Whew! — whew! — fare away! Yes, the chariot bore 
them away, and the peasants whirled on in their dance. 
They played at ‘ Riding the Summer into the village,’ to 
Borreby village, Tareby village, and many others. 

“ But that night when I rose,” said the wind, “the noble 
lady laid herself down to rise no more ; that came to her 
which comes to everyone — there was nothing new about 
it. Waldemar Daa stood grave and silent for a time ; ‘ the 
proudest tree may bend, but it does not break/ said some- 
thing within him. The daughters wept and everyone else 
at the Castle was wiping their eyes ; but Madam Daa had 
fared away, and I fared away too ! Whew ! — whew ! ” said 
the wind. 

“ I came back again ; I often came back across the island 
of Funen and the waters of the Belt and took up my place 
on Borreby shore close to the great forest of oaks. The 
ospreys and the wood pigeons used to build in it, the blue 
raven and even the black stork ! It was early in the year, 
some of the nests were full of eggs, while in others the 
young ones were just hatched. What a flying and scream- 
ing was there ! Then came the sound of the axe, blow 
upon blow; the forest was to be felled. Waldemar Daa 
was about to build a costly ship, a three-decked man-of-war, 
which it was expected the King would buy. So the wood 
fell, the ancient landmark of the seaman, the home of the 
birds. The shrike was frightened away; its nest was torn 
down ; the osprey and all the other birds lost their nests too, 
and they flew about distractedly, shrieking in their terror 
and anger. The crows and the jackdaws screamed in 
mockery Caw ! caw ! Waldemar Daa and his three 
daughters stood in the middle of the wood among the work- 
men. They all laughed at the wild cries of the birds except 
Anna Dorothea, who was touched by their distress, and 


176 The Wind’s Tale 

when they were about to fell a tree which was half-dead, and 
on whose naked branches a black stork had built its nest, 
out of which the young ones were sticking their heads, she 
begged them with tears in her eyes to spare it. So the tree 
with the black stork’s nest was allowed to stand. It was 
only a little thing. 

“The chopping and the sawing went on — the three- 
decker was built. The master builder was a man of humble 
origin, but of noble loyalty ; great power lay in his eyes 
and on his forehead, and Waldemar Daa liked to listen 
to him, and little Ida liked to listen too, the eldest fifteen- 
year-old daughter. But whilst he built the ship for her 
father, he built a castle in the air for himself, in which he 
and little Ida sat side by side as man and wife. This might 
also have happened if his castle had been built of solid 
stone, with moat and ramparts, wood and gardens. But 
with all his wisdom, the shipbuilder was only a poor bird, 
and what business has a sparrow in a crane’s nest? Whew ! 
whew ! I rushed away, and he rushed away, for he dared 
not stay, and little Ida got over it, as get over it she must. 

“ The fiery black horses stood neighing in the stables ; 
they were worth looking at, and they were looked at to 
some purpose too. An admiral was sent from the King 
to look at the new man-of-war, with a view to purchasing 
it. The admiral was loud in his admiration of the horses. 
I heard all he said,” added the wind. “I went through 
the open door with the gentlemen and scattered the straw 
like gold before their feet. Waldemar Daa wanted gold ; 
the admiral wanted the black horses, and so he praised 
them as he did ; but his hints were not taken, therefore the 
ship remained unsold. There it stood by the shore 
covered up with boards, like a Noah’s Ark which never 
reached the water. Whew ! whew ! get along ! get along ! 
It was a miserable business. In the winter, when the fields 
were covered with snow and the Belt was full of ice-floes 
which I drove up on to the coast,” said the wind, “the 
ravens and crows came in flocks, the one blacker than the 
other, and perched upon the desolate, dead ship by the 
shore. They screamed themselves hoarse about the forest 
which had disappeared, and the many precious birds’ nests 
which had been devastated, leaving old and young home- 
less ; and all for the sake of this old piece of lumber, the 
proud ship which was never to touch the water ! I whirled 


The Wind’s Tale 177 

the snow about till it lay in great heaps round the ship. I 
let it hear my voice, and all that a storm has to say. I 
know that I did my best to give it an idea of the sea. 
Whew ! whew ! ” 

“ The winter passed by ; winter and summer passed 
away ! They come and go just as I do. The snow- 
flakes, the apple blossom, and the leaves fall, each in 
their turn. Whew ! whew ! they pass away, as men pass 
too ! 

“The daughters were still young. Little Ida, the rose, 
as lovely to look at as when the shipbuilder turned his 
gaze upon her. I often took hold of her long brown hair 
when she stood lost in thought by the apple tree in the 
garden. She never noticed that I showered apple blossom 
over her loosened hair ; she only gazed at the red sunset 
against the golden background of the sky, and the dark 
trees and bushes of the garden. Her sister Johanna was 
like a tall, stately lily ; she held herself as stiffly erect 
as her mother, and seemed to have the same dread of 
bending her stem. She liked to walk in the long gallery 
where the family portraits hung. The ladies were painted 
in velvet and silk, with tiny pearl embroidered caps on their 
braided tresses. Their husbands were all clad in steel, 
or in costly cloaks lined with squirrel skeins and stiff blue 
ruffs ; their swords hung loosely by their sides. Where 
would Johanna’s portrait one day hang on these walls? 
What would her noble husband look like? These were 
her thoughts, and she even spoke them aloud ; I heard her 
as I swept through the long corridor into the gallery, where 
I veered round again. 

“ Anna Dorothea, the pale hyacinth, was only a child 
of fourteen, quiet and thoughtful. Her large blue eyes as 
clear as water were very solemn, but childhood’s smile still 
played upon her lips, I could not blow it away, nor did 
I wish to do so. I used to meet her in the garden, the 
ravine, and in the manor fields. She was always picking 
flowers and herbs, those she knew her father could use 
for healing drinks and potions. Waldemar Daa was proud 
and conceited, but he was also learned, and ne knew a 
great deal about many things. One could see that, and 
many whispers went about as to his learning. The fire 
blazed in his stove even in summer, and his chamber door 
was locked. This went on for days and nights, but he did 


178 The Wind’s Tale 

not talk much about it. One must deal silently with the 
forces of nature. He would soon discover the best of 
everything, the red, red gold ! 

“This was why his chimney flamed and smoked and 
sparkled. Yes, I was there, too,” said the wind. 

“Away with you, away! I sang in the back of the 
chimney. Smoke, smoke, embers and ashes, that is all 
it will come to ! You will burn yourself up in it. Whew ! 
whew ! away with it ! But Waldemar Daa could not let 
it go. 

“ The fiery steeds in the stable, where were they ? The 
old gold and silver plate in cupboard and chest, where was 
that? The cattle, the land, the castle itself? Yes, they 
could all be melted down in the crucible, but yet no gold 
would come. 

“ Barn and larder got emptier and emptier. Fewer 
servants ; more mice. One pane of glass got broken and 
another followed it. There was no need for me to go in 
by the doors,” said the wind. “A smoking chimney means 
a cooking meal, but the only chimney which smoked here, 
swallowed up all the meals, all for the sake of the red gold. 

“ I blew through the castle gate like a watchman blowing 
his horn, but there was no watchman ” ; said the wind. 
“ I twisted round the weather cock on the tower and it 
creaked as if the watchman up there was snoring, only there 
was no watchman. Rats and mice were the only in- 
habitants. Poverty laid the table ; poverty lurked in 
wardrobe and larder. The doors fell off their hinges, 
cracks and crannies appeared everywhere, I went in and 
out,” said the wind, “so I know all about it.” 

“The hair and the beard of Waldemar Daa grew grey, 
in the sorrow of his sleepless nights, amid smoke and ashes. 
His skin grew grimy and yellow, and his eyes greedy for 
gold, the long expected gold. 

“I whistled through the broken panes and fissures, - 
blew into the daughters’ chests where their clothes lay 
faded and threadbare; they had to last for ever. A song 
like this had never been sung over the cradles of these 
children. A lordly life became a woeful life ! I was the 
only one to sing in the castle now,” said the wind. “I 
snowed them up, for they said it gave warmth. They had 
no firewood, for the forest was cut down where they should 
have got it. There was a biting frost. Even I had to keep 


The Wind’s Tale 179 

rushing through the crannies and passages to keep myself 
lively. They stayed in bed to keep themselves warm, 
those noble ladies. Their father crept about under a fur 
rug. Nothing to bite, and nothing to burn ! a lordly life 
indeed ! Whew ! whew ! let it go ! But this was what 
Waldemar Daa could not do. 

“ ‘ After winter comes the spring,’ said he ; ‘ a good time 
will come after a time of need ; but they make us wait their 
pleasure, wait ! The castle is mortgaged, we are in ex- 
tremities — and yet the gold will come — at Easter ! ” 

“ I heard him murmur to the spider’s web. — ‘ You clever 
little weaver ! You teach me to persevere ! If your web 
is broken, you begin at the beginning again and complete 
it ! Broken again — and cheerfully you begin it over again. 
That is what one must do and one will be rewarded !” 

“ It was Easter morning, the bells were ringing, and the 
sun was at play in the heavens. Waldemar Daa had 
watched through the night with his blood at fever pitch ; 
boiling and cooling; mixing and distilling. I heard him 
sigh like a despairing soul, I heard him pray, and I felt 
that he held his breath. The lamp had gone out but he 
never noticed it ; I blew up the embers and they shone upon 
his ashen face which took a tinge of colour from their light, 
his eyes started in their sockets, they grew larger and larger 
as if they would leap out. 

“ Look at the alchemist’s glass ! something twinkles in it, 
it is glowing, pure and heavy. He lifted it with a trembling 
hand and shouted with a trembling voice : ‘ Gold ! gold ! ' 
He reeled, and I could easily have blown him over,” said 
the wind, “ but I only blew upon the embers, and followed 
him to the room where his daughters sat shivering. His 
coat was powdered with ash, as well as his beard and his 
matted hair. He drew himself up to his full height and 
held up his precious treasure, in the fragile glass : ‘ Found 1 
won ! gold !’ he cried, stretching up his hand with the glass 
which glittered in the sunbeams : his hand shook, and the 
alchemist’s glass fell to the ground shivered into a thousand 
atoms. The last bubble of his welfare was shattered too. 
Whew ! whew ! fare away ! and away I rushed from the 
gold maker’s home. 

“ Late in the year when the days were short and dark 
up here, and the fog envelopes the red berries and bare 
branches with its cold moisture, I came along in a lively 


180 The Wind’s Tale 

mood, clearing the sky and snapping off the dead boughs. 
This is no great labour, it is true, yet it has to be done. 
Borreby Hall, the home of Waldemar Daa was having a 
clean sweep of a different sort. The family enemy Ove 
Ramel from Basness appeared, holding the mortgage of the 
Hall and all its contents. I drummed upon the cracked 
window panes, beat against the decaying doors, and whistled 
through all the cracks and crannies, whew ! I did my best 
to prevent Herr Ove taking a fancy to stay there. Ida and 
Anna Dorothea faced it bravely although they shed some 
tears ; Johanna stood pale and erect and bit her finger till 
it bled ! much that would help her ! Ove Ramel offered to 
let them stay on at the Castle for Waldemar Daa’s lifetime, 
but he got no thanks for his offer; I was listening. I saw 
the ruined gentleman stiffen his neck and hold his head 
higher than ever. I beat against the walls and the old 
linden trees with such force that the thickest branch broke, 
although it was not a bit rotten. It fell across the gate 
like a broom, as if some one was about to sweep ; and a 
sweeping there was indeed to be. I quite expected it. It 
was a grievous day and a hard time for them, but their wills 
were as stubborn as their necks were stiff. They had not a 
possession in the world but the clothes on their backs ; yes, 
one thing — an alchemist’s glass which had been bought and 
filled with the fragments scraped up from the floor. The 
treasure which promised much and fulfilled nothing. 
Waldemar Daa hid it in his bosom, took his staff in his 
hand, and with his three daughters the once wealthy gentle- 
man walked out of Borreby Hall for the last time. I blew 
a cold blast upon his burning cheeks, I fluttered his grey 
beard and his long white hair; I sang such a tune as only 
I could sing. Whew ! whew ! away with them ! away with 
them ! This was the end of all their grandeur. 

“ Ida and Anna Dorothea walked one on each side of 
him: Johanna turned round in the gateway, but what was 
the good of that ? nothing could make their luck turn. She 
looked at the red stones of what had once been Marsk 
Stig’s Castle, was she thinking of his daughters ? 

‘ The elder took the younger by the hand, 

And out they roamed to a far off land.’ 

Was she thinking of that song? Here there were three 
and their father was with them. They walked along the 
road where once they used to ride in their chariot. They 


The Wind’s Tale 181 

trod it now as vagrants, on their way to a plastered cottage 
on Smidstrup Heath, which was rented at ten marks yearly. 
This was their new country seat with its empty walls and its 
empty vessels. The crows and the magpies wheeled scream- 
ing over their heads with their mocking ‘ Caw, caw ! Out 
of the nest, Caw, caw ! ’ just as they screamed in Borreby 
Forest when the trees were felled. 

“ Herr Daa and his daughters must have noticed it. I 
blew into their ears to try and deaden the cries which after 
all were not worth lisening to. 

“ So they took up their abode in the plastered cottage on 
Smidstrup Heath, and I tore off over marshes and meadows, 
through naked hedges and bare woods, to the open seas and 
other lands. Whew ! whew ! away, away ! and that for 
many years.” 

What happened to Waldemar Daa ? What happened to 
his daughters ? This is what the wind relates. 

“ The last of them I saw, yes, for the last time, was Anna 
Dorothea, the pale hyacinth. She was old and bent now ; 
it was half a century later. She lived the longest, she had 
gone through everything. 

“Across the heath, near the town of Viborg, stood the 
Dean’s new, handsome mansion, built of red stone, with 
toothed gables. The smoke curled thickly out of the 
chimneys. The gentle lady and her fair daughters sat in 
the bay window looking into the garden at the drooping 
thorns and out to the brown heath beyond. What were 
they looking at there ? They were looking at a stork’s nest 
on a tumbledown cottage ; the roof was covered, as far as 
there was any roof to cover, with moss and house-leek ; 
but the stork’s nest made the best covering. It was the 
only part to which anything was done, for the stork kept 
it in repair. 

“ This house was only fit to be looked at, not to be touched. 
I had to mind what I was about,” said the wind. “The 
cottage was allowed to stand for the sake of the stork’s nest, 
in itself it was only a scarecrow on the heath, but the Dean 
did not want to frighten away the stork, so the hovel was 
allowed to stand. The poor soul inside was allowed to live 
in it ; she had the Egyptian bird to thank for that ; or was 
it repayment for having once pleaded for the nest of his 
wild black brother in Borreby Forest? Then, poor thing 
she was a child, a delicate, pale hyacinth in a noble flower 


1 82 The Wind’s Tale 

garden. Poor Anna Dorothea ; she remembered it all ! Ah, 
human beings can sigh as well as the wind when it soughs 
through the rushes and reeds. 

“ * Oh dear ! Oh dear ! No bells rang over the grave of 
Waldemar Daa. No schoolboys sang when the former lord 
of Borreby Castle was laid in his grave. Well, everything 
must have an end, even misery ! Sister Ida became the 
wife of a peasant, and this was her father’s sorest trial. His 
daughter’s husband a miserable serf, who might at any 
moment be ordered the punishment of the wooden horse by 
his lord. It is well that the sod covers him now, and you, 
too, Ida ! Ah yes ! ah yes ! Poor me, poor me ! I still 
linger on. In Thy mercy release me, oh Christ ! ’ 

“ This was the prayer of Anna Dorothea, as she lay in the 
miserable hovel which was only left standing for the sake of 
the stork. 

“I took charge of the boldest of the sisters,” said the wind. 
“She had clothes made to suit her manly disposition, and 
took a place as a lad with a skipper. Her words were few and 
looks stubborn, but she was willing enough at her work. But 
with all her will she could not climb the rigging ; so I blew her 
overboard before anyone discovered that she was a woman and 
I fancy that was not a bad deed of mine ! ” said the wind. 

“ On such an Easter morning as that on which Waldemar 
Daa thought he had found the red gold, I heard from 
beneath the stork’s nest a psalm echoing through the 
miserable walls. It was Anna Dorothea’s last song. There 
was no window; only a hole in the wall. The sun rose 
in splendour and poured in upon her; her eyes were 
glazed and her heart broken ! This would have been so 
this morning whether the sun had shone upon her or not. 
The stork kept a roof over her head till her death ! I sang 
at her grave,” said the wind, “and I sang at her father’s 
grave. I know where it is, and her’s, too, which is more 
than anyone else knows. 

“ The old order changeth, giving place to the new. The 
old high road now only leads to cultivated fields, while peace- 
ful graves are covered by the busy traffic on the new road. 
Soon comes Steam with its row of waggons behind it, rushing 
over the graves, forgotten, like the names upon them. 
Whew ! whew ! Let us be gone ! This is the story of 
Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Tell it better yourselves, if 
you can,” said the wind, as it veered round. Then it was gone. 


The Snow Queen : 

A Tale in Seven Stories 

FIRST STORY 

Deals with a mirror and its fragments. Now we are about 
to begin, and you must attend ; and when we get to the end 
of the story, you will know more than you do now about a 
very wicked hobgoblin. He was one of the worst kind ; in 
fact he was a real demon. One day he was in a high state 
of delight because he had invented a mirror with this 
peculiarity, that every good and pretty thing reflected in it 
shrank away to almost nothing. On the other hand, every 
bad and good-for-nothing thing stood out and looked its 
worst. The most beautiful landscapes reflected in it looked 
like boiled spinach, and the best people became hideous, or 
else they were upside down and had no bodies. Their faces 
were distorted beyond recognition, and if they had even one 
freckle it appeared to spread all over the nose and mouth. 
The demon thought this immensely amusing. If a good 
thought passed through anyone’s mind, it turned to a grin 
in the mirror, and this caused real delight to the demon, 
All the scholars in the demon’s school, for he kept a school, 
reported that a miracle had taken place : now for the first 
time it had become possible to see what the world and 
mankind were really like. They ran about all over with the 
mirror, till at last there was not a country or a person which 
had not been seen in this distorting mirror. They even 
wanted to fly up to heaven with it to mock the angels ; but 
the higher they flew, the more it grinned, so much so that 
they could hardly hold it, and at last it slipped out of their 
hands and fell to the earth, shivered into hundreds of millions 
and billions of bits. Even then it did more harm than ever. 
Some of these bits were not as big as a grain of sand, and 

183 


N 


184 The Snow Queen 

these flew about all over the world, getting into people’s 
eyes, and, once in, they stuck there, and distorted everything 
they looked at, or made them see everything that was amiss. 
Each tiniest grain of glass kept the same power as that 
possessed by the whole mirror. Some people even got a 
bit of the glass into their hearts, and that was terrible, for 
the heart became like a lump of ice. Some of the fragments 
were so big that they were used for window panes, but it was 
not advisable to look at one’s friends through these panes. 
Other bits were made into spectacles, and it was a bad 
business when people put on these spectacles meaning to 
be just. The bad demon laughed till he split his sides ; it 
tickled him to see the mischief he had done. But some of 
these fragments were still left floating about the world, and 
you shall hear what happened to them. 


SECOND STORY 

ABOUT A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL 

In a big town crowded with houses and people, where there 
is no room for gardens, people have to be content with 
flowers in pots instead. In one of these towns lived two 
children who managed to have something bigger than a 
flower pot for a garden. They were not brother and sister, 
but they were just as fond of each other as if they had been. 
Their parents lived opposite each other in two attic rooms. 
The roof of one house just touched the roof of the next one, 
with only a rain water gutter between them. They each had 
a little dormer window, and one only had to step over the 
gutter to get from one house to the other. Each of the 
parents had a large window-box, in which they grew pot 
herbs and a little rose tree. There was one in each box, 
and they both grew splendidly. Then it occifred to the parents 
to put the boxes across the gutter, from house to house, and 
they looked just like two banks of flowers. The pea vines 
hung down over the edges of the boxes, and the roses threw 
out long creepers which twined round the windows. It was 
almost like a green triumphal arch. The boxes were high, 
and the children knew they must not climb up on to them, but 
they were often allowed to have their little stools out under 
the rose trees, and there they had delightful games. Of 


The Snow Queen 185 

course in the winter there was an end to these amusements. 
The windows were often covered with hoar frost ; then they 
would warm coppers on the stove and stick them on the 
frozen panes, where they made lovely peep-holes as round as 
possible. Then a bright eye would peep through these 
holes, one from each window. The little boy’s name was 
Kay, and the little girl’s Gerda. 

In the summer they could reach each other with one 
bound, but in the winter they had to go down all the stairs 
in one house and up all the stairs in the other, and outside 
there were snowdrifts. 

“ Look ! the white bees are swarming,” said the old 
grandmother. 

“ Have they a queen bee, too ? ” asked the little boy, for 
he knew that there was a queen among the real bees. 

“Yes indeed they have,” said the grandmother. “She 
flies where the swarm is thickest. She is the biggest of 
them all, and she never remains on the ground. She always 
flies up again to the sky. Many a winter’s night she flies 
through the streets and peeps in at the windows, and then 
the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful patterns like 
flowers.” 

“ Oh yes, we have seen that,” said both children, and then 
they knew it was true. 

“ Can the Snow Queen come in here ? ” asked the little girl. 

“Just let her come,” said the boy, “and I will put her on 
the stove, where she will melt.” 

But the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him 
more stories. 

In the evening when little Kay was at home and half un- 
dressed, he crept up on to the chair by the window, and 
peeped out of the little hole. A few snow-flakes were falling, 
and one of these, the biggest, remained on the edge of the 
window-box. It grew bigger and bigger, till it became the 
figure of a woman, dressed in the finest white gauze, which 
appeared to be made of millions of starry flakes. She was 
delicately lovely, but all ice, glittering, dazzling ice. Still 
she was alive, her eyes shone like two bright stars, but there 
was no rest or peace in them. She nodded to the window 
and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened and 
jumped down off the chair, and then he fancied that a big 
bird flew past the window. 

The next day was bright and frosty, and then came the 


1 86 The Snow Queen 

thaw — and after that the spring. The sun shone, green buds 
began to appear, the swallows built their nests, and people 
began to open their windows. The little children began to 
play in their garden on the roof again. The roses were in 
splendid bloom that summer; the little girl had learnt a 
hymn, and there was something in it about roses, and that 
made her think of her own. She sang it to the little boy, 
and then he sang it with her — 

“ Where roses deck the flowery vale,. 

There, Infant Jesus, we thee hail !” 

The children took each other by the hands, kissed the 
roses, and rejoiced in God’s bright sunshine, and spoke to it 
as if the Child Jesvs were there. What lovely summer days 
they were, and how delightful it was to sit out under the 
fresh rose trees, which seemed never tired of blooming, 

Kay and Gerda were looking at a picture book of birds 
and animals one day — it had just struck five by the church 
clock — when Kay said, “ Oh, something struck my heart, 
and I have got something in my eye ! ” 

The little girl, put her arms round his neck, he blinked 
his eye, there was nothing to be seen. 

“I believe it is gone,” he said, but it was not gone. It 
was one of those very grains of glass from the mirror, the 
magic mirror. You remember that horrid mirror, in which 
all good and great things reflected in it became small and 
mean, while the bad things were magnified, and every flaw 
became very apparent. 

Poor Kay ! a grain of it had gone straight to his heart, 
and would soon turn it to a lump of ice. He did not feel it 
any more, but it was still there. 

“ Why do you cry ? ” he asked ; “ it makes you look ugly ; 
there’s nothing the matter with me. How horrid ! ” he 
suddenly cried ; “ there’s a worm in that rose, and that one 
is quite crooked ; after all, they are nasty roses, and so are 
the boxes they are growing in ! ” He kicked the box 
and broke off two of the roses. 

“What are you doing, Kay?” cried the little girl. 
When he saw her alarm, he broke off another rose, and 
then ran in, by his own window, and left dear little Gerda 
alone. 

When she next got out the picture book he said it was 
only fit for babies in long clothes. When his grandmother 
told them stories he always had a but — , and if he could 


The Snow Queen 187 

manage it, he liked to get behind her chair, put on her 
spectacles and imitate her. He did it very well and people 
laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate every one in 
the street; he could make fun of all their peculiarities and 
failings. “ He will turn out a clever fellow,” said people. 
But it was all that bit of glass in his heart, that bit of glass 
in his eye, and it made him teaze little Gerda who was so 
devoted to him. He played quite different games now ; he 
seemed to have grown older. One winter’s day, when the 
snow was falling fast, he brought in a big magnifying glass ; 
he held out the tail of his blue coat, and let the snow flakes 
fall upon it. 

“Now look through the glass, Gerda!” he said; every 
snow-flake was magnified, and looked like a lovely flower, 
or a sharply pointed star. 

“ Do you see how cleverly they are made,” said Kay. 
“ Much more interesting than looking at real flowers, and 
there is not a single flaw in them, they are perfect, if only 
they would not melt.” 

Shortly after, he appeared in his thick gloves, with his 
sledge on his back. He shouted right into Gerda’s ear, 
“I have got leave to drive in the big square where the 
other boys play ! ” and away he went. 

In the big square the bolder boys used to tie their little 
sledges to the farm carts and go a long way in this fashion. 
They had no end of fun over it. Just in the middle of 
their games, a big sledge came along; it was painted white 
and the occupant wore a white fur coat and cap. The 
sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay quickly tied 
his sledge on behind. Then off they went, faster, and 
faster, into the next street. The driver turned round and 
nodded to Kay in the most friendly way, just as if they 
knew each other. Every time Kay wanted to loose his 
sledge, the person nodded again, and Kay stayed where he 
was, and they drove right out through the town gates. 
Then the snow began to fall so heavily, that the little boy 
could not see a hand before him as they rushed along. He 
undid the cords and tried to get away from the big sledge, 
but it was no use, his little sledge stuck fast, and on they 
rushed, faster than the wind. He shouted aloud but 
nobody heard him and the sledge tore on through the 
snow-drifts. Every now and then it gave a bound, as if 
they were jumping over hedges and ditches. He was very 


1 88 The Snow Queen 

frightened, and he wanted to say his prayers, but he could 
only remember the multiplication tables. 

The snow-flakes grew bigger and bigger till at last they 
looked like big white chickens. All at once they sprang on 
one side, the big sledge stopped and the person who drove 
got up, coat and cap smothered in snow. It was a tall and 
upright lady all shining white, the Snow Queen herself. 

“We have come along at a good pace,” she said ; “ but it’s 
cold enough to kill one ; creep inside my bearskin coat.” 

She took him into the sledge by her, wrapped him in her 
furs, and he felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift. 

“ Are you still cold ? ” she asked, and she kissed him on 
the forehead. Ugh ! it was colder than ice, it went to his 
very heart, which was already more than half ice; he felt as 
if he were dying, but only for a moment, and then it seemed 
to have done him good, he no longer felt the cold. 

“My sledge! don’t forget my sledge!” He only re- 
membered it now, it was tied to one of the white chickens 
which flew along behind them. The Snow Queen kissed 
Kay again, and then he forgot all about little Gerda, 
Grandmother, and all the others at home. 

“Now I mustn’t kiss you any more,” she said “or I 
should kiss you to death ! ” 

Kay looked at her, she was so pretty ; a cleverer, more 
beautiful face could hardly be imagined. She did not 
seem to be made of ice now, as she was outside the 
window when she waved her hand to him. In his eyes 
she was quite perfect, and he was not a bit afraid of her ; 
he told her that he could do mental arithmetic, as far as 
fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles 
and the number of inhabitants of the country. She 
always smiled at him, and he then thought that he surely 
did not know enough and he looked up into the wide ex- 
panse of heaven, into which they rose higher and higher 
as she flew with him on a dark cloud, while the storm 
surged around them, the wind ringing in their ears like 
well-known old songs. 

They flew over woods and lakes, over oceans and 
islands, the cold wind whistled down below them, the 
wolves howled, the black crows flew screaming over the 
sparkling snow, but up above, the moon shone bright and 
clear — and Kay looked at it all the long, long winter nights ; 
in the day he slept at the Snow Queen’s feet. 


The Snow Queen 


189 


STORY THREE 

THE GARDEN OF THE WOMAN LEARNED IN MAGIC 

But how was little Gerda getting on all this long time 
since Kay left her? Where could he be? Nobody 
knew, nobody could say anything about him. All that 
the other boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his 
little sledge to a splendid big one which drove away down 
the street and out of the town gates. Nobody knew 
where he was, and many tears were shed ; little Gerda 
cried long and bitterly. At last, people said he was dead ; 
he must have fallen into the river which ran close by the 
town. Oh, what long, dark, winter days those were ! 

At last the spring came and the sunshine. 

“ Kay is dead and gone,” said little Gerda. 

“ I don’t believe it,” said the sunshine. 

“ He is dead and gone,” she said to the swallows. 

“We don’t believe it,” said the swallows, and at last 
little Gerda did not believe it either. 

“ I will put on my new red shoes,” she said one morn- 
ing ; “those Kay never saw; and then I will go down to 
the river and ask it about him ! ” 

It was very early in the morning ; she kissed the old 
grandmother, who was still asleep, put on the red shoes, 
and went quite alone, out by the gate to the river. 

“ Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow ? I will 
give you my red shoes if you will bring him back to me again." 

She thought the little ripples nodded in such a curious 
way, so she took off her red shoes, her most cherished 
possessions, and threw them both into the river. They fell 
close by the shore, and were carried straight back to her 
by the little wavelets ; it seemed as if the river would not 
accept her offering, as it had not taken little Kay. 

She only thought she had not thrown them far enough, 
so she climbed into a boat which lay among the rushes, then 
she went right out to the further end of it, and threw the 
shoes into the water again. But the boat was loose, and her 
movements started it off, and it floated away from the shore : 
she felt it moving and tried to get out, but before she 
reached the other end the boat was more than a yard 
from the shore, and was floating away quite quickly. 


190 The Snow Queen 

Little Gerda was terribly frightened, and began to cry, 
but nobody heard her except the sparrows, and they could 
not carry her ashore, but they flew alongside twittering as 
if to cheer her, “we are here, we are here.” The boat 
floated rapidly away with the current ; little Gerda sat quite 
still with only her stockings on ; her little red shoes floated 
behind, but they could not catch up the boat which drifted 
away faster and faster. 

The banks on both sides were very pretty with beautiful 
flowers, fine old trees, and slopes dotted with sheep and cattle 
but not a single person. 

“ Perhaps the river is taking me to little Kay,” thought 
Gerda, and that cheered her ; she sat up and looked at the 
beautiful green banks for hours. 

Then they came to a big cherry garden ; there was a little 
house in it, with curious blue and red windows, it had a 
thatched roof, and two wooden soldiers stood outside, who 
presented arms as she sailed past. Gerda called out to them ; 
she thought they were alive, but of course they did not 
answer ; she was quite close to them, for the current drove 
the boat close to the bank. Gerda called out again, louder 
than before, and then an old, old woman came out of the 
house ; she was leaning upon a big, hooked stick, and she 
wore a big sun hat, which was covered with beautiful 
painted flowers. 

“You poor little child,” said the old woman, “however 
were you driven out on this big, strong river into the wide, 
wide world alone ? ” Then she walked right into the water, 
and caught hold of the boat with her hooked stick; she 
drew it ashore, and lifted little Gerda out. 

Gerda was delighted to be on dry land again, but she was 
a little bit frightened of the strange old woman. 

“ Come, tell me who you are, and how you got here/’ 
said she. 

When Gerda had told her the whole story and asked her 
if she had seen Kay, the woman said she had not seen him, 
but that she expected him. Gerda must not be sad, she was 
to come and taste her cherries and see her flowers, which 
were more beautiful than any picture-book ; each one had a 
story to tell. Then she took Gerda by the hand, they went 
into the little house, and the old woman locked the door. 

The windows were very high up, and they were red, blue, 
and yellow ; they threw a very curious light into the room. 





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192 The Snow Queen 

On the table were quantities of the most delicious cherries, of 
which Gerda had leave to eat as many as ever she liked. While 
she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a 
golden comb, so that the hair curled, and shone like gold 
round the pretty little face, which was as sweet as a rose. 

I have long wanted a little girl like you !” said the old 
woman. “You will see how well we shall get on together.” 
While she combed her hair Gerda had forgotten all about 
Kay, for the old woman was learned in the magic art, but 
she was not a bad witch, she only cast spells over people for 
a little amusement, and she wanted to keep Gerda. She 
therefore went into the garden and waved her hooked stick 
over all the rose-bushes, and however beautifully they were 
flowering, all sank down into the rich black earth without 
leaving a trace behind them. The old woman was afraid 
that if Gerda saw the roses she would be reminded of Kay, and 
would want to run away. Then she took Gerda into the 
flower garden. What a delicious scent there was ! and every 
imaginable flower for every season was in that lovely garden ; 
no picture book could be brighter or more beautiful. Gerda 
jumped for joy and played till the sun went down behind the 
tall cherry trees. Then she was put into a lovely bed with 
rose coloured silken coverings stufied with violets ; she 
slept and dreamt as lovely dreams as any queen on her 
wedding day. 

The next day she played with the flowers in the garden 
again — and many days passed in the same way. Gerda 
knew every flower, but however many there were, she always 
thought there was one missing, but which it was she did not 
know. 

One day she was sitting looking at the old woman’s sun 
hat with its painted flowers, and the very prettiest one of 
them all was a rose. The old woman had forgotten her hat 
when she charmed the others away. This is the consequence 
of being absent-minded. 

“What !” said Gerda, “are there no roses here?” and she 
sprang in among the flower beds and sought, but in vain ! 
Her hot tears fell on the very places where the roses used 
to be ; when the warm drops moistened the earth, the rose 
trees shot up again just as full of bloom as when they sank. 
Gerda embraced the roses and kissed them, and then she 
thought of the lovely roses at home, and this brought the 
thought of little Kay. 


The Snow Queen 193 

“ Oh, how I have been delayed,” said the little girl, I 
ought to have been looking for Kay ! Don’t you know 
where he is?” she asked the roses. “Do you think he is 
dead and gone ? ” 

“ He is not dead,” said the roses. “For we have been 
down underground, you know, and all the dead people are 
there, but Kay is not among them.” 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” said little Gerda, and then she went 
to the other flowers and looked into their cups and said, 
4 ‘ Do you know where Kay is ? ” 

But each flower stood in the sun and dreamt its own 
dreams. Little Gerda heard many of these, but never any- 
thing about Kay. 

And what said the Tiger lilies ? 

“ Do you hear the drum ? rub-a-dub, it has only two notes, 
rub-a-dub, always the same. The wailing of women and 
the cry of the preacher. The Hindu woman in her long 
red garment stands on the pile, while the flames surround 
her and her dead husband. But the woman is only think- 
ing of the living man in the circle round, whose eyes burn 
with a fiercer fire than that of the flames which consume the 
body. Do the flames of the heart die in the fire ? ” 

“ I understand nothing about that,” said little Gerda. 

“ That is my story,” said the Tiger lily. 

“ What does the convolvulus say ? ” 

“An old castle is perched high over a narrow mountain 
path, it is closely covered with ivy, almost hiding the old 
red walls, and creeping up leaf upon leaf right round the 
balcony where stands a beautiful maiden. She bends over 
the balustrade and looks eagerly up the road. No rose on 
its stem is fresher than she; no apple blossom wafted by 
the wind moves more lightly. Her silken robes rustle 
softly as she bends over and says, “ Will he never come ? ” 

“Is it Kay you mean ?” asked Gerda. 

“ I am only talking about my own story, my dream,” 
answered the convolvulus. 

What said the little snowdrop ? 

“ Between two trees a rope with a board is hanging ; it 
is a swing. Two pretty little girls in snowy frocks and 
green ribbons fluttering on their hats are seated on it. 
Their brother, who is bigger than they are, stands up behind 
them ; he has his arms round the ropes for supports, and 
holds in one hand a little bowl and in the other a clay pipe. 


194 The Snow Queen 

He is blowing soap-bubbles. As the swing moves the 
bubbles fly upwards in all their changing colours, the last 
one still hangs from the pipe swayed by the wind, and the 
swing goes on. A little black dog runs up, he is almost as 
light as the bubbles, he stands up on his hind legs and 
wants to be taken into the swing, but it does not stop. 
The little dog falls with an angry bark, they jeer at it ; the 
bubble bursts. A swinging plank, a fluttering foam 
picture — that is my story ! ” 

“ I daresay what you tell me is very pretty, but you speak 
so sadly and you never mention little Kay.” 

What says the hyacinth? 

“ They were three beautiful sisters, all most delicate, and 
quite transparent. One wore a crimson robe, the other a 
blue, and the third was pure white. These three danced 
hand-in-hand, by the edge of the lake in the moonlight. 
They were human beings, not fairies of the wood. The 
fragrant air attracted them, and they vanished into the 
wood ; here the fragrance was stronger still. Three coffins 
glide out of the wood towards the lake, and in them lie the 
maidens. The fire flies flutter-lightly round them with 
their little flickering torches. Do these dancing maidens 
sleep, or are they dead ? The scent of the flower says that 
they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell.” 

“You make me quite sad,” said little Gerda; “your 
perfume is so strong it makes me think of those dead 
■maidens. Oh, is little Kay really dead? The roses have 
been down underground, and they say no.” 

“Ding, dong,” tolled the hyacinth bells; “we are not 
tolling for little Kay; we know nothing about him. We 
sing our song, the only one we know.” 

And Gerda went on to the buttercups shining among their 
dark green leaves. 

“You are a bright little sun,” said Gerda. “Tell me if 
you know where I shall find my playfellow.” 

The buttercup shone brightly and returned Gerda’s glance. 
What song could the buttercup sing? It would not be 
about Kay. 

“God’s bright sun shone into a little court on the first 
day of spring. The sunbeams stole down the neighbouring 
white wall, close to which bloomed the first yellow flower 
of the season ; it shone like burnished gold in the sun. An 
old woman had brought her arm-chair out into the sun ; her 


The Snow Queen 195 

granddaughter, a poor and pretty little maid-servant, had 
come to pay her a short visit, and she kissed her. There 
was gold, heart’s gold, in the kiss. Gold on the lips, gold 
on the ground, and gold above, in the early morning beams ! 
Now that is my little story,” said the buttercup. 

“Oh, my poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. “She 
will be longing to see me, and grieving about me, as she did 
about Kay. But 1 shall soon go home again and take Kay 
with me. It is useless for me to ask the flowers about him. 
They only know their own stories, and have no information 
to give me.” 

Then she tucked up her little dress, so that she might 
run the faster, but the narcissus blossoms struck her on the 
legs as she jumped over them, so she stopped and said, 
“Perhaps you can tell me something.” 

She stooped down close to the flower and listened. What 
did it say ? 

“ I can see myself, I can see myself,” said the narcissus. 
“Oh, how sweet is my scent. Up there in an attic window 
stands a little dancing girl half dressed ; first she stands on 
one leg, then on the other, and looks as if she would tread 
the whole world under her feet. She is only a delusion. 
She pours some water out of a teapot on to a bit of stuff 
that she is holding; it is her bodice. ‘Cleanliness is a 
good thing/ she says. Her white dress hangs on a peg ; it 
has been washed in the teapot, too, and dried on the roof. 
She puts it on, and wraps a saffron coloured scarf round her 
neck, which makes the dress look whiter. See how high 
she carries her head, and all upon one stem. I see myself, 
I see myself! ” 

“ I don’t care a bit about all that,” said Gerda ; “ it’s no 
use telling me such stuff.” 

And then she ran to the end of the garden. The door 
was fastened, but she pressed the rusty latch, and it gave 
way. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with 
bare feet into the wide world. She looked back three times, 
but nobody came after her. At last she could run no 
further, and she sat down on a big stone. When she looked 
round she saw that the summer was over, it was quite late 
autumn. She would never have known it inside the beautiful 
garden, where the sun always shone, and the flowers of every 
season were always in bloom. 

“Oh, how I have wasted my time,” said little Gerda. 


196 The Snow Queen 

“It is autumn. I must not rest any longer,” and she got 
up to go on. 

Oh, how weary and sore were her little feet, and every- 
thing round looked so cold and dreary. The long willow 
leaves were quite yellow. The damp mist fell off the trees 
like rain, one leaf dropped after another from the trees, and 
only the sloe-thorn still bore its fruit, but the sloes were 
sour and set one’s teeth on edge. Oh, how grey and sad it 
looked, out in the wide world. 


FOURTH STORY 

PRINCE AND PRINCESS 

Gerda was soon obliged to rest again. A big crow hopped 
on to the snow, just in front of her. It had been sitting 
looking at her for a long time and wagging its head. Now 
it said “ Caw, caw ; good-day, good-day,” as well as it could ; 
it meant to be kind to the little girl, and asked her where 
she was going, alone in the wide world. 

Gerda understood the word “alone” and knew how 
much there was in it, and she told the crow the whole story 
of her life and adventures, and asked if it had seen Kay. 

The crow nodded his head gravely and said, “ May be I 
have, may be I have.” 

“ What, do you really think you have ? ” cried the little 
girl, nearly smothering him with her kisses. 

“ Gently, gently ! ” said the crow. “ I believe it may have 
been Kay, but he has forgotten you by this time, I expect, 
for the Princess.” 

“Does he live with a Princess?” asked Gerda. 

“ Yes, listen,” said the crow ; “ but it is so difficult to 
speak your language. If you understand ‘ crow’s language,’ 1 
I can tell you about it much better.” 

“No, I have never learnt it,” said Gerda; “but grand- 
mother knew it, and used to speak it. If only I had learnt it ! ” 

“ It doesn’t matter,” said the crow. “I will tell you as 
well as I can, although I may do it rather badly.” 

Then he told her what he had heard. 

“ In this kingdom where we are now,” said he, “ there 

1 Children have a kind of language, or gibberish, formed by adding 
letters or syllables to every word, which is called “ crow’s language.” 


The Snow Queen 197 

lives a Princess who is very clever. She has read all the 
newspapers in the world, and forgotten them again, so clever 
is she. One day she was sitting on her throne, which is not 
such an amusing thing to do either, they say; and she began 
humming a tune, which happened to be 

4 Why should I not be married, oh why ? ’ 

1 Why not indeed ? ’ said she. And she made up her mind 
to marry, if she could find a husband who had an answer 
ready when a question was put to him. She called all the 
court ladies together, and when they heard what she wanted, 
they were delighted. 

“ ‘ I like that now,’ they said. ‘ I was thinking the same 
thing myself the other day.’ 

“ Every word I say is true,” said the crow, “ for I have a 
tame sweetheart who goes about the palace whenever she 
likes. She told me the whole story,” 

Of course his sweetheart was a crow, for “birds of a 
feather flock together,” and one crow always chooses another. 
The newspapersall came out immediately with borders of hearts 
and the Princess’s initials. They gave notice that any young 
man who was handsome enough might go up to the Palace 
to speak to the Princess. The one who spoke as if he were 
quite at home, and spoke well, would be chosen by the 
Princess as her husband. Yes, yes, you may believe me, 
it’s as true as I sit here,” said the crow. “The people came 
crowding in ; there was such running, and crushing, but no 
one was fortunate enough to be chosen, either on the first 
day, or on the second. They could all of them talk well 
enough in the street, but when they entered the castle gates, 
and saw the guard in silver uniforms, and when they went 
up the stairs through rows of lackeys in gold embroidered 
liveries, their courage forsook them. When they reached the 
brilliantly lighted reception rooms, and stood in front of the 
throne where the Princess was seated, they could think of 
nothing to say, they only echoed her last words, and of 
course that was not what she wanted. 

“ It was just as if they had all taken some kind of 
sleeping powder, which made them lethargic ; they did not 
recover themselves until they got out into the street again, 
and then they had plenty to say. There was quite a long 
line of them, reaching from the town gates up to the Palace. 

“ I went to see them myself,” said the crow. “ They 


198 The Snow Queen 

were hungry and thirsty, but they got nothing at the Palace, 
not even as much as a glass of tepid water. Some of the 
wise ones had taken sandwiches with them, but they did not 
share them with their neighbours ; they thought if the others 
went in to the Princess looking hungry, that there would be 
more chance for themselves.” 

“But Kay, little Kay!” asked Gerda; “when did he 
come ? was he amongst the crowd ? ” 

“Give me time, give me time ! we are just coming to him. 
It was on the third day that a little personage came marching 
cheerfully along, without either carriage or horse. His eyes 
sparkled like yours, and he had beautiful long hair, but his 
clothes were very shabby.” 

“Oh, that was Kay ! ” said Gerda gleefully; “ then I have 
found him ! ” and she clapped her hands. 

“ He had a little knapsack on his back ! ” said the crow. 

“No, it must have been his sledge; he had it with him 
when he went away ! ” said Gerda. 

“ It may be so,” said the crow ; “ I did not look very 
particularly ! but I know from my sweetheart, that when he 
entered the Palace gates, and saw the life guards in their 
silver uniforms, and the lackeys on the stairs in their gold laced 
liveries, he was not the least bit abashed. He just nodded to 
them and said, ‘ It must be very tiresome to stand upon the 
stairs. I am going inside ! ’ The rooms were blazing with 
lights. Privy councillors and excellencies without number were 
walking about barefoot carrying golden vessels ; it was enough 
to make you solemn ! His boots creaked fearfully too, but he 
wasn’t a bit upset.” 

“ Oh, I am sure that was Kay ! ” said Gerda ; “ I know he 
had a pair of new boots, I heard them creaking in grand- 
mother’s room.” 

“Yes, indeed they did creak!” said the crow. “But 
nothing daunted, he went straight up to the Princess, who 
was sitting on a pearl, as big as a spinning wheel. Poor, 
simple boy ! all the court ladies and their attendants ; the 
courtiers, and their gentlemen, each attended by a page, 
were standing round. The nearer the door they stood, so 
much the greater was their haughtiness ; till the footman’s 
boy who always wore slippers and stood in the doorway, was 
almost too proud even to be looked at.” 

“ It must be awful ! ” said little Gerda, “ and yet Kay has 
won the Princess ! ” 


The Snow Queen 199 

“If I had not been a crow, I should have taken her 
myself, notwithstanding that I am engaged. They say he 
spoke as well as I could have done myself, when I speak 
crow-language ; at least so my sweetheart says. He was a 
picture of good looks and gallantry, and then, he had not 
come with any idea of wooing the Princess, but simply to 
hear her wisdom. He admired her just as much as she 
admired him ! ” 

“ Indeed it was Kay then,” said Gerda; “ he was so clever 
he could do mental arithmetic up to fractions. Oh won’t 
you take me to the Palace ? ” 

“ It’s easy enough to talk,” said the crow ; “ but how are we 
to manage it ? I will talk to my tame sweetheart about it ; she 
will have some advice to give us I daresay, but I am bound to 
tell you that a little girl like you will never be admitted ! ” 

“ Oh, indeed I shall,” said Gerda ; “ when Kay hears 
that I am here, he will come out at once to fetch me.” 

“Wait here for me by the stile,” said the crow, then he 
wagged his head and flew off. 

The evening had darkened in before he came back. 
“Caw, caw,” he said, “she sends you greeting, and here is 
a little roll for you, she got it out of the kitchen where 
there is bread enough, and I daresay you are hungry ! It 
is not possible for you to get into the Palace, you have 
bare feet, the guards in silver and the lackeys in gold would 
never allow you to pass. But don’t cry, we shall get you 
in somehow; my sweetheart knows a little back staircase 
which leads up to the bedroom, and she knows where the 
key is kept.” 

Then they went into the garden, into the great avenue 
where the leaves were, softly one by one ; and when the 
Palace lights went out, one after the other, the crow led 
little Gerda to the back door, which was ajar. 

Oh, how Gerda’s heart beat with fear and longing! It 
was just as if she was about to do something wrong, and 
yet she only wanted to know if this really was little Kay. 
Oh, it must be him, she thought picturing to herself his 
clever eyes and his long hair. She could see his very smile 
when they used to sit under the rose trees at home. She 
thought he would be very glad to see her, and to hear 
what a long way she had come to find him, and to hear 
how sad they had all been at home when he did not 
come back. Oh, it was joy mingled with fear, 
o 


200 


The Snow Queen 

They had now reached the stairs, where a little lamp was 
burning on a shelf. There stood the tame sweetheart, 
twisting and turning her head to look at Gerda, who made 
a curtsey, as grandmother had taught her. 

“ My betrothed has spoken so charmingly to me about you, 
my little miss ! ” she said ; “ your life, ‘ Vita,' as it is called, 
is most touching ! If you will take the lamp, I will go on 
in front. We shall take the straight road here, and we shall 
meet no one.” 

“ It seems to me that someone is coming up behind us,” 
said Gerda, as she fancied something rushed past her throw- 
ing a shadow on the walls ; horses w r ith flowing manes 
and slender legs; huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on 
horseback. 

" Oh, those are only the dreams ! ” said the crow ; “ they 
come to take the thoughts of the noble ladies and gentlemen 
out hunting. That’s a good thing, for you will be able to 
see them all the better in bed. But don’t forget, when 
you are taken into favour, that you show a grateful spirit.” 

“Now, there’s no need to talk about that,” said the crow 
from the woods. 

They now came into the first apartment; it was hung 
with rose-coloured satin embroidered with flowers. Here 
again the dreams overtook them, but they flitted by so 
quickly that Gerda could not distinguish them. The 
apartments became one more beautiful than the other ; they 
were enough to bewilder anybody. They now reached the 
bedroom. The ceiling was like a great palm with crystal 
leaves, and in the middle of the room two beds, each like 
a lily hung from a golden stem. One was white, and in it 
lay the Princess ; the other was red, and there lay he whom 
Gerda had come to seek — little Kay ! She bent aside one of 
the crimson leaves, and she saw a little brown neck. It 
was Kay ! She called his name aloud, and held the lamp 
close to him. Again the dreams rushed through the room 
on horseback — he awoke, turned his head — and it was 
not little Kay. 

It was only the Prince’s neck which was like his ; but 
he was young and handsome. The Princess peeped out of 
her lily-white bed, and asked what was the matter. Then 
little Gerda cried and told them all her story, and what the 
crows had done to help her. 

“You poor little thing!” said the Prince and Princess. 


The Snow Queen 201 

And they praised the crows, and said that they were not 
at all angry with them, but they must not do it again. 
Then they gave them a reward. 

“Would you like your liberty?” said the Princess, “or 
would you prefer permanent posts about the court as court 
crows with perquisites from the kitchen ? ” 

Both crows curtsied and begged for the permanent posts, 
for they thought of their old age, and said “ it was so good 
to have something for the old man,” as they called it. 

The Prince got up and allowed Gerda to sleep in his 
bed, and he could not have done more. She folded her 
little hands, and thought “how good the people and the 
animals are ” ; then she shut her eyes and fell fast asleep. 
All the dreams came flying back again ; this time they 
looked like angels, and they were dragging a little sledge 
with Kay sitting on it, and he nodded. But it was only a 
dream ; so it all vanished when she woke. 

Next day she was dressed in silk and velvet from head to 
foot ; they asked her to stay at the Palace and have a good 
time, but she only begged them to give her a little carriage 
and horse, and a little pair of boots, so that she might drive 
out into the wide world to look for Kay. 

They gave her a pair of boots and a muff. She was 
beautifully dressed, and when she was ready to start, there 
before the door stood a new chariot of pure gold. The 
Prince’s and Princess’s coat of arms were emblazoned on 
it, and shone like a star. Coachman, footman, and out- 
rider, for there was even an outrider, all wore golden crowns. 
The Prince and Princess themselves helped her into the 
carriage and wished her joy. The wood crow, who 
was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles, 
he sat beside Gerda for he could not ride with his back to 
the horses ; the other crow stood at the door and flapped 
her wings, she did not go with them, for she suffered from 
headache since she had been a kitchen pensioner — the con- 
sequence of eating too much. The chariot was stored with 
sugar biscuits and there were fruit and ginger nuts under 
the seat. “Good-bye, good-bye,” cried the Prince and 
Princess; little Gerda wept and the crow wept too. At the 
end of the first few miles the crow said good-bye, and this 
was the hardest parting of all. It flew up into a tree and 
flapped its big black wings as long as it could see the 
chariot which shone like the brightest sunshine. 


202 


The Snow Queen 


FIFTH STORY 

THE LITTLE ROBBER GIRL 

They drove on through a dark wood, where the chariot 
lighted up the way and blinded the robbers by its glare; 
it was more than they could bear. 

“ It is gold, it is gold ! ” they cried, and darting forward, 
seized the horses, and killed the postilions, the coachman 
and footman. They then dragged little Gerda out of the 
carriage. 

“ She is fat, and she is pretty, she has been fattened on 
nuts ! ” said the old robber woman, who had a long beard, 
and eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “ She is as 
good as a fat lamb, and how nice she will taste ! ” She drew 
out her sharp knife as she said this; it glittered horribly. 
“ Oh ! ” screamed the old woman at the same moment, for 
her little daughter had come up behind her, and she was 
biting her ear. She hung on her back, as wild and as savage 
a little animal as you could wish to find. “ You bad, wicked 
child ! ” said the mother, but she was prevented from killing 
Gerda on this occasion. 

“ She shall play with me,” said the little robber girl ; “ she 
shall give me her muff, and her pretty dress, and she shall 
sleep in my bed.” Then she bit her mother again and 
made her dance. All the robbers laughed and said, “ Look 
at her dancing with her cub ! ” 

“ I want to get into the carriage,” said the little robber 
girl, and she always had her own way because she was so 
spoilt and stubborn. She and Gerda got into the carriage 
and then they drove over stubble and stones further and 
further into the wood. The little robber girl was as big as 
Gerda, but much stronger ; she had broader shoulders, and 
darker skin, her eyes were quite black, with almost a melan- 
choly expression. She put her arm round Gerda’s waist and 
said — 

“ They shan’t kill you as long as I don’t get angry with 
you ; you must surely be a Princess ! ” 

“No,” said little Gerda, and then she told her all 
her adventures, and how fond she was of Kay. 

The robber girl looked earnestly at her, gave a little nod, 
and said, “ They shan’t kill you even if I am angry with you. 


The Snow Queen 203 

I will do it myself.” Then she dried Gerda’s eyes, and 
stuck her own hands into the pretty muff, which was so soft 
and warm. 

At last the chariot stopped ; they were in the courtyard of 
a robber’s castle, the walls of which were cracked from top 
to bottom. Kavens and crows flew in and out of every hole, 
and big bull dogs, which eacn looked ready to devour some- 
body, jumped about as high as they could, but they did not 
bark, for it was not allowed. A big fire was burning in the 
middle of the stone floor of the smoky old hall. The smoke 
all went up to the ceiling where it had to find a way out for 
itself. Soup was boiling in a big cauldron over the fire, and 
hares and rabbits were roasting on the spits. 

“You shall sleep with me and all my little pets to-night,” 
said the robber girl. 

When they had had something to eat and drink they went 
along to one corner which was spread with straw and rugs. 
There were nearly a hundred pigeons roosting overhead on 
the rafters and beams. They seemed to be asleep, but they 
fluttered about a little when the children came in. 

“ They are all mine,” said the little robber girl, seizing one 
of the nearest. She held it by the legs and shook it till it 
flapped its wings. “ Kiss it,” she cried, dashing it at Gerda’s 
face. “ Those are the wood pigeons,” she added, pointing 
to some laths fixed across a big hole high up on the walls ; 
“they are a regular rabble; they would fly away directly if 
they were not locked in. And here is my old sweetheart 
Be,” dragging forward a reindeer by the horn ; it was tied up, 
and it had a bright copper ring round its neck. “We have 
to keep him close too, or he would run off. Every single 
night I tickle his neck with my bright knife, he is so 
frightened of it.” The little girl produced a long knife out 
of a hole in the wall and drew it across the reindeer’s neck, 
The poor animal laughed and kicked, and the robber girl 
laughed and pulled Gerda down into the bed with her. 

“Do you have that knife by you while you are asleep?” 
asked Gerda, looking rather frightened. 

“ I always sleep with a knife,” said the little robber girl. 
“ You never know what will happen. But now tell me again 
what you told me before about little Kay, and why you went 
out into the world.” So Gerda told her all about it again, 
and the wood pigeons cooed up in their cage above them, 
the other pigeons were asleep. The little robber girl put 


204 The Snow Queen 

her arm round Gerda’s neck and went to sleep with the knife 
in her other hand, and she was soon snoring. But Gerda 
would not close her eyes ; she did not know whether she was 
to live or to die. The robbers sat round the fire, eating and 
drinking, and the old woman was turning somersaults. This 
sight terrified the poor little girl. Then the wood pigeons 
said, “ Coo, coo, we have seen little Kay, his sledge was 
drawn by a white chicken and he was sitting in the Snow 
Queen’s sledge; it was floating low down over the trees, 
while we were in our nests. She blew upon us young ones, 
and they all died except we two ; coo, coo.” 

“ What are you saying up there ? ” asked Gerda. “ Where 
was the Snow Queen going? Do you know anything 
about it ? ” 

“ She was most likely going to Lapland, because there is 
always snow and ice there ! Ask the reindeer who is tied 
up there.” 

“There is ice and snow, and it’s a splendid place,” said 
the reindeer. “You can run and jump about where you 
like on those big glittering plains. The Snow Queen has 
her summer tent there, but her permanent castle is up at the 
North Pole, on the island which is called Spitzbergen !” 

“ Oh Kay, little Kay ! ” sighed Gerda. 

“ Lie still, or I shall stick the knife into you ! ” said the 
robber girl. 

In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood pigeons 
had said, and the little robber girl looked quite solemn, but 
she nodded her head and said, “ No matter, no matter ! 
Do you know where Lapland is ? ” she asked the reindeer. 

“Who should know better than I,” said the animal, its 
eyes dancing. “ I was born and brought up there, and I 
used to leap about on the snow-fields.” 

“ Listen,” said the robber girl. “ You see that all our men 
folks are away, but mother is still here, and she will stay ; 
but later on in the morning she will take a drink out of the 
big bottle there, and after that she will have a nap — then I 
will do something for you.” Then she jumped out of bed, 
ran along to her mother and pulled her beard, and said, 
“ Good morning, my own dear nanny-goat ! ” And her 
mother filliped her nose till it was red and blue ; but it was 
all affection. 

As soon as her mother had had her draught from the 
bottle and had dropped asleep, the little robber girl went 


The Snow Queen 205 

along to the reindeer, and said, “ I should have the greatest 
pleasure in the world in keeping you here, to tickle you with 
my knife, because you are such fun then ; however, it does 
not matter. I will untie your halter and help you outside 
so that you may run away to Lapland, but you must put 
your best foot foremost, and take this little girl for me to the 
Snow Queen’s palace, where her playfellow is. I have no 
doubt you heard what she was telling me, for she spoke loud 
enough, and you are generally eavesdropping ! ” 

The reindeer jumped into the air for joy. The robber 
girl lifted little Gerda up, and had the forethought to tie 
her on, nay, even to give her a little cushion to sit upon. 
“ Here, after all, I will give you your fur boots back, for it 
will be very cold, but I will keep your muff, it is too pretty 
to part with. Still you shan’t be cold. Here are my 
mother’s big mittens for you, they will reach up to your 
elbows ; here, stick your hands in ! Now your hands look 
just like my nasty mother’s ! ” 

Gerda shed tears of joy. 

“ I don’t like you to whimper ! ” said the little robber 
girl. “ You ought to be looking delighted ; and here 
are two loaves and a ham for you, so that you shan’t 
starve.” 

These things were tied on to the back of the reindeer ; 
the little robber girl opened the door, called in all the big 
dogs, and then she cut the halter with her knife, and said 
to the reindeer, “ Now run, but take care of my little 
girl ! ” 

Gerda stretched out her hands in the big mittens to the 
robber girl and said good-bye; and then the reindeer 
darted off over briars and bushes, through the big wood, 
over swamps and plains, as fast as it could go. The 
wolves howled and the ravens screamed, while the red 
lights quivered up in the sky. 

“ There are my old northern lights,” said the reindeer ; 
see how they flash ! ” and on it rushed faster than ever, 
day and night. The loaves were eaten, and the ham too, 
and then they were in Lapland. 


206 


The Snow Queen 


SIXTH STORY 

THE LAPP WOMAN AND THE FINN WOMAN 

They stopped by a little hut, a very poverty-stricken one ; 
the roof sloped right down to the ground, and the door was 
so low that the people had to creep on hands and knees 
when they wanted to go in or out. There was nobody at 
home here but an old Lapp woman, who was frying fish 
over a train-oil lamp. The reindeer told her all Gerda’s 
story, but it told its own first ; for it thought it was much 
the most important. Gerda was so overcome by the cold 
that she could not speak at all. 

“ Oh, you poor creatures ! ” said the Tapp woman ; 
“you’ve got a long way to go yet; you will have to go 
hundreds of miles into Finmark, for the Snow Queen is 
paying a country visit there, and she burns blue lights 
every night. I will write a few words on a dried stock-fish, 
for I have no paper. I will give it to you to take to the 
Finn woman up there. She will be better able to direct 
you than I can.” 

So when Gerda was warmed, and had eaten and drunk 
something, the Lapp woman wrote a few words on a dried 
stock-fish and gave it to her, bidding her take good care of 
it. Then she tied her on to the reindeer again, and off 
they flew. Flicker, flicker, went the beautiful blue northern 
lights up in the sky all night long ; — at last they came to 
Finmark, and knocked on the Finn woman’s chimney, for 
she had no door at all. 

There was such a heat inside that the Finn woman went 
about almost naked ; she was little and very grubby. She 
at once loosened Gerda’s things, and took off the mittens 
and the boots, or she would have been too hot. Then 
she put a piece of ice on the reindeer’s head, and after 
that she read what was written on the stock-fish. She read 
it three times, and then she knew it by heart, and put the 
fish into the pot for dinner; there was no reason why it 
should not be eaten, and she never wasted anything. 

Again the reindeer told his own story first, and then 
little Gerda’s. The Finn woman blinked with her wise 
eyes, but she said nothing. 

“ You are so clever,” said the reindeer, “ I know you can 


The Snow Queen 207 

bind all the winds of the world with a bit of sewing cotton. 
When a skipper unties one knot he gets a good wind, when 
he unties two it blows hard, and if he undoes the third and 
the fourth he brings a storm about his head wild enough to 
blow down the forest trees. Won’t you give the little girl a 
drink, so that she may have the strength of twelve men to 
overcome the Snow Queen ? ” 

“The strength of twelve men,” said the Finn woman. 
“ Yes, that will be about enough.” 

She went along to a shelf and took down a big folded 
skin, which she unrolled. There were curious characters 
written on it, and the Finn woman read till the perspiration 
poured down her forehead. 

But the reindeer again implored her to give Gerda some- 
thing, and Gerda looked at her with such beseeching eyes, 
full of tears, that the Finn woman began blinking again, and 
drew the reindeer along into a corner, where she whispered 
to it, at the same time putting fresh ice on its head. 

“ Little Kay is certainly with the Snow Queen, and he 
is delighted with everything there. He thinks it is the best 
place in the world, but that is because he has got a splinter 
of glass in his heart and a grain of glass in his eye. They 
will have to come out first, or he will never be human again, 
and the Snow Queen will keep him in her power ! ” 

“But can’t you give little Gerda something to take 
which will give her power to conquer it all? ” 

“ I can’t give her greater power than she already has. 
Don’t you see how great it is? Don’t you see how both 
man and beast have to serve her ? How she has got on as 
well as she has on her bare feet? We must not tell her 
what power she has ; it is in her heart, because she is such a 
sweet innocent child. If she can’t reach the Snow Queen 
herself, then we can’t help her. The Snow Queen’s gardens 
begin just two miles from here ; you can carry the little 
girl as far as that. Put her down by the big bush standing 
there in the snow covered with red berries. Don’t stand 
gossiping, but hurry back to me ! ” Then the Finn woman 
lifted Gerda on to the reindeer’s back, and it rushed off as 
hard as it could. 

“ Oh, I have not got my boots, and I have not got my 
mittens ! ” cried little Gerda. 

She soon felt the want of them in that cutting wind, but 
the reindeer did not dare to stop. It ran on till it came to 


208 The Snow Queen 

the bush with the red berries. There it put Gerda down, 
and kissed her on the mouth, while big shining tears 
trickled down its face. Then it ran back again as fast as 
ever it could. There stood poor little Gerda, without shoes 
or gloves, in the middle of freezing icebound Finmark. 

She ran forward as quickly as she could. A whole 
regiment of snow-flakes came towards her ; they did not 
fall from the sky, for it was quite clear, with the northern 
lights shining brightly. No; these snow-flakes ran along 
the ground, and the nearer they came the bigger they grew. 
Gerda remembered well how big and ingenious they looked 
under the magnifying glass. But the size of these was 
monstrous, they were alive, they were the Snow Queen’s 
advanced guard, and they took the most curious shapes. 
Some looked like big, horrid porcupines, some like bundles 
of knotted snakes with their heads sticking out. Others, 
again, were like fat little bears with bristling hair, but all 
were dazzling white and living snow-flakes. 

Then little Gerda said the Lord’s Prayer, and the cold 
was so great that her breath froze as it came out of her 
mouth, and she could see it like a cloud of smoke in front 
of her. It grew thicker and thicker, till it formed itself into 
bright little angels who grew bigger and bigger when they 
touched the ground. They all wore helmets and carried 
shields and spears in their hands. More and more of them 
appeared, and when Gerda had finished her prayer she was 
surrounded by a whole legion. They pierced the snow- 
flakes with their spears and shivered them into a hundred 
pieces, and little Gerda walked fearlessly and undauntedly 
through them. The angels touched her hands and her feet, 
and then she hardly felt how cold it was, but walked 
quickly on towards the Palace of the Snow Queen. 

Now we must see what Kay was about. He was not 
thinking about Gerda at all, least of all that she was just 
outside the Palace. 


SEVENTH STORY 

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S PALACE 
AND AFTERWARDS 

The Palace walls were made of drifted snow, and the 
windows and doors of the biting winds. There were over a 


The Snow Queen 209 

hundred rooms in it, shaped just as the snow had drifted. 
The biggest one stretched for many miles. They were all 
lighted by the strongest northern lights. All the rooms were 
immensely big and empty, and glittering in their iciness. 
There was never any gaiety in them ; not even so much as a 
ball for the little bears, when the storms might have turned 
up as the orchestra, and the polar bears might have walked 
about on their hind legs and shown off their grand manners. 
There was never even a little game-playing party, for such 
games as “ touch last ” or “ the biter bit ” — no, not even a 
little gossip over the coffee cups for the white fox misses, 
Immense, vast, and cold were the Snow Queen’s halls. The 
northern lights came and went with such regularity that you 
could count the seconds between their coming and going. 
In the midst of these never-ending snow-halls was a frozen 
lake. It was broken up on the surface into a thousand bits, 
but each piece was so exactly like the others that the whole 
formed a perfect work of art. The Snow Queen sat in the 
very middle of it when she sat at home. She then said that 
she was sitting on “ The Mirror of Reason,” and that it was 
the best and only one in the world. 

Little Kay was blue with cold, nay, almost black ; but he 
did not know it, for the Snow Queen had kissed away the 
icy shiverings, and his heart was little better than a lump of 
ice. He went about dragging some sharp, flat pieces of ice, 
which he placed in all sorts of patterns, trying to make some- 
thing out of them ; just as when we at home have little 
tablets of wood, with which we make patterns, and call them 
a “ Chinese puzzle.” 

Kay’s patterns were most ingenious, because they were 
the “ Ice puzzles of Reason.” In his eyes they were first- 
rate and of the greatest importance : this was because of the 
grain of glass still in his eye. He made many patterns forming 
words, but he never could find out the right way to place 
them for one particular word, a word he was most anxious to 
make. It was “ Eternity.” The Snow Queen had said to 
him that if he could find out this word he should be his own 
master, and she would give him the whole world and a new 
pair of skates. But he could not discover it. 

“Now I am going to fly away to the warm countries,” 
said the Snow Queen. “ I want to go and peep into the 
black cauldrons ! ” She meant the volcanoes Etna and 
Vesuvius by this. “I must whiten them a little; it does 


210 The Snow Queen 

them good, and the lemons and the grapes too ! ” And 
away she flew. 

Kay sat quite alone in all those many miles of empty ice 
halls. He looked at his bits of ice, and thought and 
thought, till something gave way within him. He sat so 
stiff and immovable that one might have thought he was 
frozen to death. 

Then it was that little Gerda walked into the Palace, 
through the great gates in a biting wind. She said her 
evening prayer, and the wind dropped as if lulled to sleep, 
and she walked on into the big empty hall. She saw Kay, 
and knew him at once ; she flung her arms round his neck, 
held him fast, and cried, “ Kay, little Kay, have I found you 
at last ? ** 

But he sat still, rigid and cold. 

Then little Gerda shed hot tears ; they fell upon his 
breast and penetrated to his heart. Here they thawed the 
lump of ice, and melted the little bit of the mirror which 
was in it. He looked at her, and she sang : 

“ Where roses deck the flowery vale, 

There, Infant Jesus, we thee hail ! ’* 

Then Kay burst into tears ; he cried so much that the 
grain of glass was washed out of his eye. He knew her, and 
shouted with joy, “ Gerda, dear little Gerda ! where have 
you been for such a long time ? And where have I been ? ” 
He looked round and said, “How cold it is here; how 
empty and vast ! ” He kept tight hold of Gerda, who 
laughed and cried for joy. Their happiness was so 
heavenly that even the bits of ice danced for joy around 
them ; and when they settled down, there they lay ! just in 
the very position the Snow Queen had told Kay he must 
find out, if he was to become his own master and have the 
whole world and a new pair of skates. 

Gerda kissed his cheeks and they grew rosy, she kissed his 
eyes and they shone like hers, she kissed his hands and his 
feet, and he became well and strong. The Snow Queen 
might come home whenever she liked, his order of release 
was written there in shining letters of ice. 

They took hold of each other’s hands and wandered out of 
the big Palace. They talked about grandmother, and about 
the roses upon the roof. Wherever they went the winds lay 
still and the sun broke through the clouds. When they 
reached the bush with the red berries they found the rein- 


The Snow Queen 21 1 

deer waiting for them, and he had brought another young 
reindeer with him, whose udders were full. The children 
drank her warm milk and kissed her on the mouth. Then 
they carried Kay and Gerda, first to the Finn woman, in 
whose heated hut they warmed themselves and received 
directions about the homeward journey. Then they went 
on to the Lapp woman ; she had made new clothes for them 
and prepared her sledge. Both the reindeer ran by their 
side, to the boundaries of the country ; here the first green 
buds appeared, and they said “ Good-bye ” to the reindeer 
and the Lapp woman. They heard the first little birds 
twittering and saw the buds in the forest. Out of it came 
riding a young girl on a beautiful horse, which Gerda knew, 
for it had drawn the golden chariot. She had a scarlet cap 
on her head and pistols in her belt ; it was the little robber 
girl, who was tired of being at home. She was riding north- 
wards to see how she liked it before she tried some other 
part of the world. She knew them again, and Gerda recog- 
nised her with delight. 

“You are a nice fellow to go tramping off!” she said to 
little Kay. “ I should like to know if you deserve to have 
somebody running to the end of the world for your sake ! ” 

But Gerda patted her cheek, and asked about the Prince 
and Princess. 

“ They are travelling in foreign countries,” said the robber 
girl. 

“ But the crow ? ” asked Gerda. 

“ Oh, the crow is dead ! ” she answered. “ The tame 
sweetheart is a widow, and goes about with a bit of black 
wool tied round her leg. She pities herself bitterly, but it’s 
all nonsense! But tell me how you got on yourself, and 
where you found him.” 

Gerda and Kay both told her all about it. 

“ Snip, snap, snurre, it’s all right at last then ! ” she said, 
and she took hold of their hands and promised that if she 
ever passed through their town she would pay them a visit. 
Then she rode off into the wide world. But Kay and Gerda 
walked on, hand in hand, and wherever they went, they 
found the most delightful spring and blooming flowers. 
Soon they recognised the big town where they lived, with its 
tall towers, in which the bells still rang their merry peals. 
They went straight on to grandmother’s door, up the stairs 
and into her room. Everything was just as they had left it, 


212 


The Snow Queen 

and the old clock ticked in the corner, and the hands 
pointed to the time. As they went through the door into 
the room they perceived that they were grown up. The 
roses clustered round the open window, and there stood 
their two little chairs. Kay and Gerda sat down upon them 
still holding each other by the hand. All the cold empty 
grandeur of the Snow Queen’s palace had passed from their 
memory like a bad dream. Grandmother sat in God’s warm 
sunshine reading from her Bible. 

“ Without ye become as little children ye cannot enter in- 
to the Kingdom of Heaven.” 

Kay and Gerda looked into each other’s eyes and then 
all at once the meaning of the old hymn came to them. 

“Where roses deck the flowery vale, 

There, Infant Jesus, we thee hail ! ” 

And there they both sat, grown up and yet children, 
children at heart; and it was summer — warm, beautiful 
summer. 





A Rose from Homer’s Grave 


The nightingale’s love for the rose pervades all the songs 
of the East; in those silent starlight nights the winged 
songster invariably brings a serenade to his scented 
flower. 

Not far from Smyrna, under the stately plaintain trees 
where the merchant drives his laden camels, which tread 
heavily on hallowed ground, and carry their long necks 
proudly, I saw a blooming hedge of roses. Wild doves 
fluttered from branch to branch of the tall trees, and where 
the sunbeams caught their wings they shone like mother of 
pearl. There was one flower on the rose hedge more beauti- 
ful than all the rest, and to this one the nightingale poured 
out all the yearning of its love. But the rose was silent, not 
a single dew-drop lay like a tear of compassion upon its 
petals, while it bent his head towards a heap of stones. 

“ Here rests the greatest singer the world has ever 
known ! ” said the rose. “ I will scent his grave and strew 
my petals over it when the storms tear them off. The 
singer of the Iliad returned to earth here, this earth whence 
I sprang ! — I, a rose from Homer’s grave, am too sacred to 
bloom for a mere nightingale ! ” 

And the nightingale sang till from very grief his heart 
broke. 

The camel driver came with his laden camels and his 
black slaves ; his little boy found the dead bird, and buried 
the little songster in Homer’s grave. The rose trembled in 
the wind. Night came; the rose folded her petals tightly 
and dreamt that it was a beautiful sunny day, and that a 
crowd of strange Frankish men came on a pilgrimage to 
Homer’s grave. Among the strangers was a singer from the 
North, from the home of mists and northern lights. He 
broke off the rose and pressed it in a book, and so carried it 
away with him to another part of the world, to his distant 
Fatherland. And the rose withered away from grief lying 


214 A Rose from Homer’s Grave 

tightly pressed in the narrow book, till he opened it in his 
home and said “ here is a rose from Homer’s grave ! ” 

Now this is what the flower dreamt, and it woke up shiver- 
ing in the wind ; a dew-drop fell from its petals upon the 
singer’s grave. The sun rose and the day was very hot, the 
rose bloomed in greater beauty than ever in the warmth of 
Asia. 

Footsteps were heard and the strange Franks whom the 
rose saw in its dream came up. Among the strangers was a 
poet from the North, he broke off the rose and pressed a 
kiss upon its dewy freshness, and carried it with him to the 
home of mists and northern lights. The relics of the rose 
rest now like a mummy between the leaves of his Iliad, and as 
in its dream it hears him say when he opens the book, 
“here is a rose from Homer’s grave !” 



The Emperor’s New Clothes 

Many years ago there was an Emperor who was so excess- 
ively fond of new clothes that he spent all his money on 
them. He cared nothing about his soldiers nor for the theatre, 
nor for driving in the woods except for the sake of showing 
off his new clothes. He had a costume for every hour in 
the day, and instead of saying as one does about any other 
King or Emperor, “ He is in his council chamber,” here 
one always said, “The Emperor is in his dressing-room.” 

Life was very gay in the great town where he lived ; hosts 
of strangers came to visit it every day, and among them one 
day two swindlers. They gave themselves out as weavers, 
and said that they knew how to weave the most beautiful 
stuffs imaginable. Not only were the colours and patterns 
unusually fine, but the clothes that were made of the stuffs 
had the peculiar quality of becoming invisible to every 
person who was not fit for the office he held, or if he was 
impossibly dull. 

“ Those must be splendid clothes,” thought the Emperor. 
“ By wearing them I should be able to discover which men 
in my kingdom are unfitted for their posts. I shall dis- 
tinguish the wise men from the fools. Yes, I certainly must 
order some of that stuff to be woven for me.” 

He paid the two swindlers a lot of money in advance so 
that they might begin their work at once. 

They did put up two looms and pretended to weave, 
but they had nothing whatever upon their shuttles. At the 
outset they asked for a quantity of the finest silk and the 
purest gold thread, all of which they put into their own bags 
while they worked away at the empty looms far into the 
night. 

“ I should like to know how those weavers are getting on 
with the stuff,” thought the Emperor; but he felt a little 
queer when he reflected that anyone who was stupid or unfit 
for his post would not be able to see it. He certainly thought 

P aI 5 


216 The Emperor’s New Clothes 

that he need have no fears for himself, but still he thought 
he would send somebody else first to see how it was getting on. 
Everybody in the town knew what wonderful power the stuff 
possessed, and everyone was anxious to see how stupid his 
neighbour was. 

“ I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,” 
thought the Emperor. “ He will be best able to see how 
the stuff looks, for he is a clever man and no one fulfils his 
duties better than he does ! ” 

So the good old minister went into the room where the 
two swindlers sat working at the empty loom. 

“ Heaven preserve us ! ” thought the old minister, opening 
his eyes very wide. “ Why I can’t see a thing ! ” But he 
took care not to say so. 

Both the swindlers begged him to be good enough to step 
a little nearer, and asked if he did not think it a good pattern 
and beautiful colouring. They pointed to the empty loom, 
and the poor old minister stared as hard as he could but he 
could not see anything, for of course there was nothing 
to see. 

“ Good heavens ! ” thought he, “ is it possible that I am 
a fool. I have never thought so and nobody must know it. 
Am I not fit for my post ? It will never do to say that I 
cannot see the stuffs.” 

“ Well, sir, you don’t say anything about the stuff,” said 
the one who was pretending to weave. 

“ Oh, it is beautiful ! quite charming ! ” said the old 
minister looking through his spectacles ; “ this pattern and 
these colours ! I will certainly tell the Emperor that the 
stuff pleases me very much.” 

“We are delighted to hear you say so,” said the swindlers, 
and then they named all the colours and described the 
peculiar pattern. The old minister paid great attention to 
what they said, so as to be able to repeat it when he got 
home to the Emperor. 

Then the swindlers went on to demand more money, more 
silk, and more gold, to be able to proceed with the weaving ; 
but they put it all into their own pockets — not a single 
strand was ever put into the loom, but they went on as before 
weaving at the empty loom. 

The Emperor soon sent another faithful official to see how 
the stuff was getting on, and if it would soon be ready. The 
same thing happened to him as to the minister ; he looked 



“ Those must be splendid clothes,” thought 
the Emperor 


218 The Emperor’s New Clothes 

and looked, but as there was only the empty loom, he could 
see nothing at all. 

“Is not this a beautiful piece of stuff?” said both the • 
swindlers, showing and explaining the beautiful pattern and 
colours which were not there to be seen. 

“ I know I am not a fool ! ” thought the man, “ so it must 
be that I am unfit for my good post ! It is very strange 
though ! however one must not let it appear ! ” So he 
praised the stuff he did not see, and assured them of his 
delight in the beautiful colours and the originality of the 
design. “ It is absolutely charming ! ” he said to the 
Emperor. Everybody in the town was talking about this 
splendid stuff. 

Now the Emperor thought he would like to see it while it 
was still on the loom. So, accompanied by a number of 
selected courtiers, among whom were the two faithful officials 
who had already seen the imaginary stuff, he went to visit 
the crafty impostors, who were working away as hard as ever 
they could at the empty loom. 

“ It is magnificent ! ” said both the honest officials. “ Only 
see, your Majesty, what a design! What colours!” And 
they pointed to the empty loom, for they thought no doubt 
the others could see the stuff. 

“What !” thought the Emperor; “I see nothing at all ! 
This is terrible ! Am I a fool ? Am I not fit to be Emperor ? 
Why, nothing worse could happen to me ! ” 

“ Oh, it is beautiful ! ” said the Emperor. “ It has my 
highest approval ! ” and he nodded his satisfaction as he 
gazed at the empty loom. Nothing would induce him to say 
that he could not see anything. 

The whole suite gazed and gazed, but saw nothing more 
than all the others. However, they all exclaimed with his 
Majesty, “ It is very beautiful ! ” and they advised him to 
wear a suit made of this wonderful cloth on the occasion of 
a great procession which was just about to take place. “ It 
is magnificent ! gorgeous ! excellent ! went from mouth to 
mouth ; they were all equally delighted with it. The 
Emperor gave each of the rogues an order of knighthood 
to be worn in their buttonholes and the title of “ Gentlemen 
weavers.” 

The swindlers sat up the whole night, before the day on 
which the procession was to take place, burning sixteen 
candles; so that people might see how anxious they were to 


The Emperor’s New Clothes 219 

get the Emperor’s new clothes ready. They pretended to 
take the stuff off the loom. They cut it out in the air with 
a huge pair of scissors, and they stitched away with needles 
without any thread in them. At last they said : “Now the 
Emperor’s new clothes are ready ! ” 

The Emperor, with his grandest courtiers, went to them 
himself, and both the swindlers raised one arm in the air, as 
if they were holding something, and said: “See, these are 
the trousers, this is the coat, here is the mantle ! ” and so on. 
“ It is as light as a spider’s web. One might think one had 
nothing on, but that is the very beauty of it !” 

“Yes !” said all the courtiers, but they could not see any- 
thing, for there was nothing to see. 

“ Will your imperial majesty be graciously pleased to take 
off your clothes,” said the impostors, “ so that we may put 
on the new ones, along here before the great mirror.” 

The Emperor took off all his clothes, and the impostors 
pretended to give him one article of dress after the other, of 
the new ones which they had pretended to make. They 
pretended to fasten something round his waist and to tie on 
something; this was the train, and the Emperor turned 
round and round in front of the mirror. 

“ How well his majesty looks in the new clothes ! How 
becoming they are ! ” cried all the people round. “What a 
design, and what colours ! They are most gorgeous robes ! ” 

“The canopy is waiting outside which is to be carried 
over your majesty in the procession,” said the master of the 
ceremonies. 

“ Well, I am quite ready,” said the Emperor. “ Don’t 
the clothes fit well?” and then he turned round again in 
front of the mirror, so that he should seem to be looking at 
his grand things. 

The chamberlains who were to carry the train stooped 
and pretended to lift it from the ground with both hands, 
and they walked along with their hands in the air. They 
dared not let it appear that they could not see anything. 

Then the Emperor walked along in the procession under 
the gorgeous canopy, and everybody in the streets and at 
the windows exclaimed, “ How beautiful the Emperor’s new 
clothes are ! What a splendid train ! And they fit to per- 
fection ! ” Nobody would let it appear that he could see 
nothing, for then he would not be fit for his post, or else he 
was a fool. 


220 The Emperor’s New Clothes 

None of the Emperor’s clothes had been so successful 
before. 

“ But he has got nothing on,” said a little child. 

“Oh, listen to the innocent,” said its father; and one 
person whispered to the other what the child had said. 
“ He has nothing on ; a child says he has nothing on ! ” 

“ But he has nothing on ! ” at last cried all the people. 

The Emperor writhed, for he knew it was true, but he 
thought “ the procession must go on now,” so held himself 
stiffer than ever, and the chamberlains held up the invisible 
train. 



* 


The Naughty Boy 

There was once an old poet, he was a good, honest old 
poet. One evening when he was sitting quietly at home a 
terrible storm came on ; the rain poured down in torrents, 
but the old poet was warm and cosy in his corner beside the 
stove, where the fire blazed brightly and the apples were 
fizzling. 

“ There won’t be a dry thread on any poor creature who is 
out in this rain,” said he, for he was such a kind-hearted man. 

“ Oh, please open the door for me, I am so cold and so 
wet ! ” cried a little child outside. It kept on crying and 
knocking at the door, while the rain poured down and the 
wind shook the windows. 

“ Poor little creature ! ” said the old poet, as he went to 
open the door. 

There stood a little boy, who was quite naked, and the 
water was streaming out of his yellow hair. He was shaking 
with cold, and if he had not been taken in he must surely 
have died of the cold. 

“ You poor little fellow ! ” said the old poet, taking him 
by the hand. “Come to me and I will soon have you 
warm ! You shall have some wine and a roasted apple, for 
you are a beautiful boy ! ” 

And so he really was. His eyes were like two bright 
stars, and although dripping wet, his hair hung in lovely 
curls. He looked like a little angel child, but the cold 
made him very pale, and he was shivering in every limb. 
He had a beautiful cross-bow in his hand, but it was quite 
spoilt by the rain ; all the colours in the pretty arrows had 
run from the wet. 

The old poet sat down by the stove and took the little 
boy on his knee; he wrung the water out of his hair, 
warmed his hands, and heated some sweet wine for him. 
He soon recovered and the roses came back to his cheeks ; 
he jumped down and skipped and danced round the old poet. 


221 


222 The Naughty Boy 

“You are a merry boy!” said the old man. “What is 
your name? ” 

“ I am called Cupid ! ” he answered. “-Don’t you know 
me? There lies my bow — and I know how to shoot with 
it, I can tell you ! Look, it is getting quite fine again, the 
moon is shining ! ” 

“But your bow is spoilt,” said the old poet. 

“ That is a pity,” said the little boy, and he took it up 
and looked at it. “ Oh, it is quite dry again, — it is not a bit 
the worse, the string is quite tight. See, I will try it ! ” 

He then drew his bow, put an arrow in, took aim and shot 
right into the old man’s heart. 

“ Do you see now that my bow is not spoilt ? ” said he as 
he ran away laughing. The naughty boy ! to shoot the old 
poet who had been so kind to him, and had given him the 
warm wine and the best apple. 

The good old man lay upon the floor and wept, he had 
really been shot right through the heart, and he said : “ Fie, 
what a naughty boy that Cupid is ! I will tell all the good 
children about him, so that they may take care never to play 
with him, or he will certainly do them some mischief.” 

All the good boys and girls to whom he told this story 
took good care to avoid wicked little Cupid, but he cheats 
them over and over again for he is so crafty. 

When the students go home from their lectures, he runs 
along by their side with a black gown on and a book under 
his arm. They don’t recognise him, and take hold of his 
arm thinking he is a fellow-student, but then he sends a 
dart into their bosoms. When the girls go home from 
their classes, and even when they are in church he lays 
wait for them. He is the same for all time and everyone 
alike. He sits in the great chandelier in the theatre, and 
makes such a bright, hot flame ; people fancy it is a lamp 
but they are soon undeceived. He runs about the Royal 
Gardens and on the ramparts ; nay, once he even shot 
your father and mother right through the heart ! Ask them 
about it and you will hear what they say. Oh ! he is a bad 
boy this same Cupid. Never have anything to do with him ! 
He waylays everyone alike, and even your poor old grand- 
mother did not escape his dart. It was a long time ago, and 
the effect has passed away, but that kind of thing is never 
forgotten. Fie, fie ! wicked little Cupid ! But now you know 
all about him, so beware ! 


Holger the Dane 

There is an old castle in Denmark which is called Kronborg; 
it juts out into the Sound, and great ships sail past it every 
day by hundreds. There are Russian and English and 
Prussian ships, and many other nationalities; they all fire 
a salute when they pass the old castle; “boom,” and the 
castle answers, “boom.” That is the way cannons say 
“how do you do” and “thank you.” No ships sail in 
the winter, the water is frozen over, right up to the Swedish 
coast, and it becomes a great high road. Swedish and 
Danish flags fly, and the Danes and the Swedes say “ how 
do you do ” and “ thank you ” to each other, not with 
cannons, but with a friendly shake of the hand. They 
buy fancy bread and cakes of each other, for strange food 
tastes best. But old Kronborg is always the chief feature, 
and down inside it, in the deep dark cellar, lives Holger 
the Dane. He is clad in steel and iron, and rests his 
head upon his strong arms, and his long beard hangs over 
the marble table where it has grown fast; he sleeps and 
dreams, but in his dreams he sees all that is happening 
up there in Denmark. Every Christmas Eve a holy angel 
comes and tells him that he has dreamt aright, and that 
he may go to sleep again, because Denmark is not yet in 
any real danger. But should danger come, then old Holger 
the Dane will rise up so that the table will burst asunder 
when he wrenches his beard away from it, then he will 
come forward and strike a blow that will resound in all 
parts of the world. 

An old grandfather was sitting telling his little grandson 
all this about Holger the Dane, and the little boy knew that 
all that his grandfather said was true. While the old man 
was talking, he sat carving a big wooden figure; it was to 
represent Holger the Dane as the figurehead of a ship; 
for the old grandfather was a carver, the sort of man who 
carves a figurehead for each ship, according to its name. 

223 


224 Holger the Dane 

Here he had carved Holger the Dane, who stood erect and 
proud, with his long beard. He held in his hand a great 
broadsword, and rested his other hand upon a shield with 
the Danish arms. The old grandfather had so much to tell 
about remarkable Danish men and women, that the little boy 
at last thought he must know as much as Holger the Dane, 
who, after all, only dreamt about these things. When the 
little fellow went to bed, he thought so much about the 
things he had heard, and he pressed his chin so hard into 
the quilt, that he thought it was a long beard grown fast 
to it. 

The old grandfather remained sitting at his work, carving 
away at the last bit of it, which was the arms on the shield. 
At last it was finished. He looked at it complete, and 
thought of all the things he had heard and read, and 
what he had been telling the little boy in the evening. 
He nodded, and wiped his spectacles, and put them on 
again, and said, “Well, I don’t suppose Holger the Dane 
will come in my time, but perhaps the boy in bed there 
may see him, and have his share of the fighting when the 
time comes.” And the old grandfather nodded again, and 
the more he looked at his Holger the Dane, the more plain 
it became to him that the figure he had made was a good 
one. He even fancied that the colour came into it, and 
that the armour shone like polished steel ; the hearts in 
the Danish Arms 1 got redder and redder, and the crowns on 
the springing lions became golden. 

“ It’s the finest coat of Arms in the world ! ” said the old 
man. “The lions are strength, and the hearts are love 
and tenderness ! ” He looked at the uppermost lion, and 
thought about King Knuth who bound the mighty England 
to Denmark’s throne ; and he looked at the second lion 
and thought of Waldemar, who united Denmark and subdued 
the Vandals. He looked at the third lion and thought of 
Margaret, who united Denmark, Sweden and Norway ; when 
he looked at the red hearts, they shone more brightly than 
ever, they became waving flames of fire, and in his thoughts 
he followed each of them. 

The first led him into a narrow, dark prison; he saw a 
prisoner, a beautiful woman, Eleonora Ulfeld, daughter of 
Christian the Fourth. The flame placed itself like a rose 
on her bosom, and bloomed in harmony with her heart ; 

1 The Danish Arms consist of three lions between nine hearts. 


Holger the Dane 225 

she was the noblest and best of Denmark’s women. “ That 
is one heart in the Arms of Denmark,” said the old 
grandfather. 

Then his thoughts followed the next heart, which led him 
out to sea among the thunder of cannon and ships enveloped 
in smoke ; and the flame attached itself like an order to 
Hvitfield’s breast as he, to save the fleet, blew up his ship 
and himself with it. 

The third heart led him to the miserable huts of Greenland, 
where Hans Egede, the priest, laboured with loving words 
and deeds : the flame was a star upon his breast, one heart 
more for the Danish Arms. 

The old grandfather’s heart went in advance of the 
waving flames, for he knew whither the flames were leading 
him. 

Frederick the Sixth stood in the peasant woman’s poor 
little room and wrote his name with chalk on the beams. 
The flame trembled on his breast, trembled in his heart ; in 
the peasant’s room his heart became a heart in Denmark’s 
Arms. And the old grandfather wiped his eyes, for he had 
known King Frederick and lived for him, King Frederick 
with silvery hair and honest blue eyes. Then he folded his 
hands and sat, looking pensively before him. His daughter- 
in-law came and told him that it was late and he must rest, 
the supper was ready. 

“ What a grand figure you have made, grandfather,” she 
said. “ Holger the Dane and all our beautiful coat of arms 
— I think I have seen that face before ! ” 

“No, that you haven’t,” said the old man; “ but I have 
seen it, and often before tried to carve it in wood, just 
as I remember it. It was when the English lay in the roads 
on the 2nd day of April, and we knew we were true old 
Danes. Where I stood on the Denmark in Steen Bille’s 
squadron I had a man by my side, it seemed as if the balls 
were afraid of him ; there he stood singing old ballads, 
fighting and struggling as if he were more than a man. I 
remember his face still, but whence he came or whither he 
went I haven’t an idea, nor anyone else either. I have 
often thought it must have been old Holger the Dane him- 
self, who had swum down from Kronborg to help us in the 
hour of danger, now that’s my idea, and there stands his 
portrait.” 

The figure threw its shadow right up the wall as high as 


226 Holger the Dane 

the ceiling, it looked as if it were the real Holger the Dane 
himself standing behind; the shadow seemed to move, but 
perhaps that was because the candle was not burning very 
steadily. The old man’s daughter-in-law kissed him, and led 
him to the big arm-chair by the table, and she and her 
husband, who was the old man’s son, and father of the little 
boy in bed, sat eating their supper and chatting. 

The old grandfather’s head was full of Danish lions and 
Danish hearts and strength and gentleness ; he could talk of 
nothing else. He explained to them that there is another 
strength besides the strength of the sword, and he pointed 
to the shelf where his old books lay, all Holberg’s plays, 
which were so much read, because they were so amusing ; 
all the characters from olden times were quite familiar to 
him. 

“You see he knew how to fight too,” said the old man. 
“ He spent all his life in showing up in his plays the follies 
and peculiarities of those around him ! ” 

Then the grandfather nodded to a place above the looking- 
glass, where an almanac hung with a picture of the Round 
Tower 1 on it, and he said, “There was Tycho Brahe, he 
was another who used the sword ; not to hack at legs and 
arms, but to cut out a plainer path among the stars of 
heaven ! And then he whose father belonged to my calling ; 
Thorwaldsen the old woodcarver’s son. We have seen him 
ourselves with the silvery locks falling on his broad shoulders, 
whose name is known to all the world — ah, he is a sculptor, 
and I am only a woodcarver. Yes, Holger the Dane comes 
in many guises, that the strength of Denmark may be known 
all over the world. Shall we drink to the health of Bertel 
Thorwaldsen?” 

The little boy in bed distinctly saw the castle of Kronborg 
and the real Holger the Dane, who lived down below it, 
with his beard grown fast to the marble table, and dreaming 
about all that happens up above. Holger the Dane also 
dreamt about the poor little room where the woodcarver 
lived ; he heard everything that was said and nodded in his 
dreams, murmuring, “Yes, remember me, ye Danish people ! 
Keep me in mind, I shall come in time of need.” 

Outside Kronborg it was bright daylight and the wind bore 
the notes of the huntsman’s horn from the opposite shore. 
The ships sailed past with their greeting, “ boom, boom ! ” 
1 The Observatory of Copenhagen. 


' Holger the Dane 227 

with the answer from Kronborg, “boom, boom.” Holger 
the Dane did not wake, however loud they thundered, 
because it was only “ how do you do ! ” and “ many thanks ! ” 
It will have to be a different kind of firing to rouse him, 
but he will wake, never fear ; there is grit in Holger the 
Dane. 




What the Moon Saw 

It is very extraordinary, but when my feelings are most 
fervent, and at their best, my tongue and my hands alike 
seem tied. I cannot reproduce my impressions either in 
words, or in painting, as I feel them burning within me. 
And yet I am an artist, my eye tells me so, and all who 
have seen my sketches and notes acknowledge the same. 

I am only a poor lad, and I live in one of the narrowest 
streets ; but light is not wanting to me, for I live high up, 
and I have a fine view over the roof. For the first few days 
when I came to live in the town, it seemed very cramped 
and lonely. Instead of green woods and hills, I only had 
chimney pots on my horizon. I had not a single friend, 
and there was not even the face of an acquaintance to 
greet me. 

One evening I was standing sadly by the window. I 
opened it and looked out, and there, how pleased I was ! 
I saw a face I knew, a round friendly face, my best friend 
at home. It was the moon, the dear old moon, unchanged, 
and looking exactly the same as he used to look, when he 
peeped at me there through the willows in the marshes. I 
kissed my hand to him, and he shone straight into my room 
and promised to look in at me every evening he was out. 
This promise he has faithfully kept, and it is only a pity 
that he stays so short a time. Every time he comes he tells 
me something or another which he has seen the night before. 

228 


What the Moon Saw 229 

“Now paint what I tell you!” said he, “and you will 
have a very fine picture book.” I have done as he said for 
many evenings, and in my own way I could give a new 
rendering of the “Thousand and One Nights,” but that 
would be too many. Those I give here are not selected, 
but they come in the order in which I heard them. A 
highly gifted painter, a poet or a musician might perhaps 
make more of them ; what I have given here are only hasty 
sketches, with my own thoughts occasionally interspersed, 
for the moon did not come every night, there were some 
evenings when he was hidden by the clouds. 


FIRST EVENING 

“ Last evening,” to give the moon’s own words, “ as I 
was gliding through the clear atmosphere of India, and 
reflecting myself in the Ganges, I tried to pierce the thick 
groves of plantain trees the leaves of which overlap each 
other as tightly as the horny plates on the back of the 
turtle. From out of the thicket came a Hindoo maiden ; 
she was as light as a gazelle, and as beautiful as Eve. 
There was such an airy grace about her, and yet such 
firmness of purpose in this daughter of India ; I could read 
her intention in coming. The thorny creepers tore her 
sandals, but she stepped rapidly onwards. The deer 
coming up from the river where they had quenched their 
thirst, bounded shyly past her, for the girl held in her hand 
a burning lamp. I could see the blood coursing in her 
delicate fingers as she bent them round the flame to form a 
shelter for it. She approached the river and placed the 
lamp upon the face of the waters, and it floated away on the 
stream. The flame flickered and seemed as if it would go 
out, but still it burned, and the dark sparkling eyes of the 
girl followed it with a longing glance, from under their 
silken fringes. She knew that if the lamp burned as long as 
she could follow it with her eyes, her lover lived. But if it 
went out, he was dead. The lamp burnt and flickered, and 
her heart burnt and trembled. She sank upon her knees in 
prayer. By her side in the grass lay a venomous snake, but 
she heeded it not; she only thought of Brahma, and her 
bridegroom. ‘ He lives ! ’ she rejoiced, and from the hills 
came the echo, ‘ He lives ! ’ ” 


230 


What the Moon Saw 


SECOND EVENING 

“ It was yesterday/’ the moon told me, “ I peeped down 
into a little court surrounded by houses ; in it sat a hen with 
eleven chickens. A charming little girl was skipping about 
among them. The hen clucked and spread her wings in 
alarm over her brood. Then the little girl’s father came out 
and scolded her, and I slipped away without thinking any 
more about it. But to-night, only a few minutes ago, I 
looked into the same court. At first it was quite quiet, but 
then the same little girl came out. She crept softly along 
to the chicken-house, lifted the latch and slipped in beside 
the hen and chickens. They cackled and flapped their 
wings and the little girl ran after them. I saw it all quite 
plainly, for I peeped in by a hole in the wall. I was quite 
angry with the naughty child, and felt pleased when her 
father came and scolded her, more angrily than yesterday. He 
took her by the arm, and she bent back her head, showing 
her big blue eyes full of tears. ‘ What are you doing here ? ’ 
asked he. She cried and said, 1 1 only wanted to get in to 
the hen to kiss her, and to ask her to forgive me for 
frightening her yesterday, but I was afraid to tell you.’ 

“ The father kissed the sweet innocent upon the forehead, 
and I kissed her on the eyes and lips.” 

THIRD EVENING 

“ In the narrow street close by — it is so narrow that I can 
only let my beams glide down for a few minutes, but in 
those minutes I see enough to know what the people are 
who move about there — I saw a woman sixteen years ago ; 
she was a child ; away in the country she played in the old 
vicarage garden. The rose hedges were old and past flower- 
ing. They were running wild over the paths and sending 
up long shoots into the apple trees. Here and there grew 
one poor rose, not lovely as the queen of flowers should be, 
but the colour was there, and the fragrance. The parson’s 
little daughter seemed to me a far sweeter flower, sitting 
upon her footstool under the wild hedge, kissing the battered 
cheeks of her doll. Ten years later I saw her again. I saw 
her in a brilliant ballroom ; she was the lovely bride of a 
rich merchant. I was delighted with her happiness, and I 


What the Moon Saw 231 

often sought her in those quiet evenings. Alas ! no one 
thought of my clear eye or my sharp glances. My rose was 
also sending out wild shoots like the roses in the vicarage 
garden. There are tragedies in everyday life too. To-night 
I saw the last act. There, in the narrow street, on a bed, 
she lay at death’s door. The wicked landlord, rough and 
cruel, her only protector, tore aside the coverlet. ‘Get 
up!’ he said. ‘Your face is a sight. Dress yourself up, 
paint your face, and get some money, or I will turn you 
into the street. Get up at once ! ’ ‘ Death is in my heart ! ’ 

she said. ‘ Oh, let me rest ! ’ But he forced her to get up, 
and painted her cheeks, and put a wreath of roses in her 
hair. Then he seated her by the window, with the light 
close by, and left her. I gazed upon her as she sat motion- 
less, with her hands in her lap. The window flew back, and 
one of the panes cracked, but she did not move. The 
curtain fluttered round her like a flame. She was dead. 

“ The dead woman at the open window preached a moral 
to me : My rose from the vicarage garden.” 

FOURTH EVENING 

“ I went to a German play last night,” said the moon. 
“ It was in a little town ; a stable had been turned into a 
theatre, that is to say, the stalls were left standing and fur- 
nished up to make boxes. All the woodwork was covered 
up with bright paper. A little iron chandelier hung from 
the low ceiling, and so that it might disappear into the roof, 
as in a big theatre at the sound of the prompter’s bell, an 
inverted tub was fixed above it. ‘Ring-a-ting ’ went the bell, 
and the little chandelier made a spring of about a foot, and 
then one knew that the play had begun. A young prince 
and his consort, who were travelling through the town, were 
present at the performance. The house was crammed ; only 
the place under the chandelier was left like a little crater ; 
not a creature sat there, for the grease dropped. ‘Drop, 
drop.’ I saw it all, for it was so warm that all the loopholes 
had been opened. The lads and lasses outside were peep- 
ing in, notwithstanding that the police inside kept threaten- 
ing them with their sticks. The noble pair sat in a couple 
of old arm-chairs close to the orchestra. The burgomaster 
and his wife usually occupied these, but on this occasion 
they were obliged to sit on the wooden benches, just as if 
Q 


232 What the Moon Saw 

they had been ordinary citizens. * There, you see there is 
rank above rank ! ’ was the quiet remark of the goodwives ; 
and this incident gave a special air of festivity to the enter- 
tainment. The chandelier gave its little hops ; the crowd 

was rapped over the knuckles, and I . Yes, the moon 

saw the whole entertainment.” 

FIFTH EVENING 

“ Yesterday,” said the moon, “ I looked down upon the 
life of Paris, and my eye penetrated to some of the apart- 
ments in the Louvre. An old grandmother poorly clad, 
belonging to the lower classes, accompanied by some of the 
subordinate attendants entered the great empty throne room. 
She wanted to see it, she must see it ! It had cost her 
many small sacrifices and much persuasiveness before she 
had attained her wish. She folded her thin hands and 
looked about her as reverently as if she were in a church. 
‘It was here,’ she said, ‘here/ and she approached the 
throne with its rich embroidered velvet hangings. ‘ There ! ’ 
she said, ‘ there ! * and she fell upon her knees and kissed 
the purple carpet; I believe she wept. ‘It was not this 
very velvet/ said the attendant, a smile playing round his 
mouth. ‘ But it was here ! ’ said the woman, ‘ it looked the 
same/ ‘The same/ he answered, ‘yet not the same ; the 
windows were smashed to atoms, the doors torn off, and 
there was blood upon the floors ! ’ ‘ But still you may say 

that my grandson died upon the throne of France. Died ! * 
repeated the old woman. I don’t think anything more was 
said ; they left the room soon after. The twilight faded, 
and my light grew stronger upon the rich velvet on the 
throne of France. Who do you think the old woman was ? 
I will tell you a story. It was evening, on the most brilliant 
day of victory in the July revolution, when every house was 
a fortress, every window an embrasure. The populace 
stormed the Tuileries, even women and children fought 
among the combatants ; they pressed through the apartments 
of the palace. A poor half-grown lad in rags fought bravely 
among the other insurgents; he fell fatally wounded by 
bayonet thrusts, and sank to the ground in the throne room 
itself, and his bleeding form was laid upon the throne where 
his blood streamed over the imperial purple! What a 
picture that was ! The noble room, the struggling groups, 


What the Moon Saw 233 

a tom banner upon the ground, the tricolour floating from 
the bayonets ; and on the throne the poor dying boy with 
his pale transparent face and eyes turned towards heaven, 
while his limbs were already stiffening in death. His naked 
breast and torn clothing were half hidden by the purple 
velvet decked with the lilies of France. It had been pro- 
phesied at his cradle that ‘ he should die on the throne of 
France/ The mother’s heart had dreamt of a new Napoleon. 
My beams have kissed the wreath of Immortelles on the 
lad’s grave, and this night they kissed the forehead of the 
old grandmother while she dreamt and saw the picture you 
may sketch here, ‘The poor boy upon the throne of 
France ! * w 

SIXTH EVENING 

“ I have been in Upsala,” said the moon. “ I looked 
down upon the great plain covered with coarse grass and the 
barren fields. I looked at myself in the waters of the Fyris 
river, while the steamers frightened the fishes in among the 
rushes. The clouds chased each other below me, and threw 
their shadows on to Odin’s, Thor’s, and Freya’s graves, as 
they are called. Names have been cut all over the mounds 
in the short turf. There is no monument here, where 
travellers can have their names carved, nor rock walls where 
they may be painted, so the visitors have had the turf cut 
away, and their names stand out in the bare earth. There is 
a perfect network of these spread all over the mounds. A 
form of immortality which only lasts till the fresh grass grows. 
A man was standing there, a poet. He emptied the mead 
horn with its broad silver rim and whispered a name, telling 
the wind not to betray it ; but I heard it and knew it. A 
count’s coronet sparkles, over it, and therefore he did not 
speak it aloud. I smiled ; a poet’s crown sparkles over his ! 
Eleanora d’Este’s nobility gains lustre from Tasso’s name. I 
knew, too, where this Rose of Beauty blooms ! ” Having 
said this the moon was hidden by a cloud. May no clouds 
come between the poet and his rose ! 

SEVENTH EVENING 

“Along the shore stretches a great forest of oak and 
beech ; sweet and fragrant is its scent. It is visited every 
year by hundreds of nightingales. The sea is close by, the 


234 What the Moon Saw 

ever changing sea, and the broad high road separates the 
two. One carriage after another rolls by ; I do not follow 
them, my eye rather rests on one particular spot. It is a 
tumulus, or barrow ; brambles and wild sloes grow among its 
stones. Here is real poetry in nature. How do you think 
people in general interpret it ? I will tell you what I heard 
only last night. 

“ First two rich farmers drove by. ‘ There are some fine 
trees,’ said one. ‘There are ten loads of wood in each,’ 
answered the other. ‘ This will be a hard winter, and last 
winter we got fourteen dollars a cord,’ and they were gone. 

‘ This is a bad bit of road,’ said the next man who drove 
along. ‘ It’s those cursed trees, answered his companion. 
‘You don’t get a current of air, you only have the breeze 
from the sea, and then they rolled by. Next, the diligence 
came along. The passengers were all asleep at the prettiest 
part of the road. The driver blew his horn ; he only thought 
‘how well I am blowing it, and it sounds well here; I 
wonder what they think of it,’ and then the diligence, too, 
was gone. The next to pass were two lads on horseback. 
Here we have youth and champagne in the blood, I thought. 
And indeed they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill 
and the dark thicket. ‘ Shouldn’t I like a walk here with 
the miller’s Christine ! ’ said one, and then they rushed on. 
The flowers scented the air, and every breeze was hushed, it 
looked as if the sea was a part of the heavens outspread over 
a deep valley. A carriage drove by in which were six 
travellers, four of them were asleep, the fifth was thinking of 
his new summer coat, and whether it became him. The 
sixth leant forward and asked the driver if there was any- 
thing remarkable about that heap of stones. ‘ No,’ answered 
the man, ‘it’s only a heap of stones; but those trees are 
remarkable.’ ‘Tell me about them.’ ‘Well, they are very 
remarkable ; you see, sir, in winter when the snow lies deep, 
and every place looks alike, these trees are a landmark to 
me, and I know I must keep close to them so as not to drive 
into the sea. In that way, you see, they are remarkable,’ 
then he drove on. Now an artist came along and his eyes 
sparkled, he did not say a word, but he whistled and the 
nightingales sang, the one louder than the other. ‘Hold 
your tongues,’ he cried, and took out his note-book and 
began noting down the colours in the most methodical 
manner, ‘ Blue, lilac, dark brown. It will make a splendid 


What the Moon Saw 235 

picture.’ He saw it as a mirror reflects a scene, and in the 
meantime he whistled a march by Rossini. The last to 
come by was a poor girl, she rested a moment by the barrow 
and put down her burden. She turned her pale pretty face 
towards the wood and her eyes shone when, she looked 
upwards to the sky over the sea. She folded her hands and 
I think she whispered a prayer. She did not herself under- 
stand the feelings which penetrated her, but I know that in 
years to come this night will often recur to her with all the 
lovely scene around her. It will be much more beautiful 
and truer to nature in her memory than the painter’s picture 
will be with his exact colouring noted down in a book. My 
beams followed her till the dawn kissed her forehead.” 

EIGHTH EVENING 

There were heavy clouds in the sky, and the moon did 
not appear at all. I was doubly lonely in my little room, 
looking up into the sky where the moon ought to have been. 
My thoughts wandered up to the kind friend who had told 
me stories every evening and shown me pictures. What had 
he not experienced ? He had sailed over the angry waters 
of the flood and looked down upon the ark, as he now did 
upon me, bringing consolation to the new world which was 
to arise. When the children of Israel stood weeping by the 
waters of Babylon, he peeped sadly through the willows 
where their harps were hung. When Romeo climbed on to 
the balcony and young love’s kiss flew like a cherub’s thought 
from earth to heaven, the round moon was hidden behind 
the dark cypresses in the transparent air. He saw the hero 
at St Helena where he stood on the rock gazing out over the 
illimitable ocean, while great thoughts stirred his breast. 
Nay, what could not the moon tell us? The life of the 
-world is a story to him. To-night I do not see you, old 
friend ! and I have no picture to draw in remembrance of 
your visit. But as I looked dreamily up at the clouds, there 
appeared one beam from the moon, — but it was soon gone, 
the black clouds swept over it. Still it was a greeting, a 
friendly evening greeting, to me from the moon. 

NINTH EVENING 

The air was clear again, several evenings had passed, 
while the moon was in its first quarter. Then I got a new 


236 What the Moon Saw 

idea for a sketch : hear what the moon told me. “ I have 
followed the polar birds and the swimming whales to the 
east coast of Greenland. Gaunt ice-covered rocks, and dark 
clouds overhung a valley where willows and bilberry bushes 
stood in thick bloom, and the scented lychnis diffused its 
fragrance; my light was dim and my crescent pale as the 
leaf of the waterlily which has been floating for weeks upon 
the waters after being torn away from its stem. The corona 
of the northern lights burned with a fierce light. The rays 
spread out from its wide circle, over the heavens like whir- 
ling columns of fire playing in green and red light. The 
inhabitants were assembled for dancing and merry-making, 
but they had no wonder to bestow on the glorious sight, so 
accustomed to it were they. 4 Let the souls of the dead play 
at ball with the walrus’ head as much as they like/ they 
thought, according to their superstitions. Their attention 
was entirely centred on the dancing and singing. A Green- 
lander without his fur coat stood in the middle of the circle, 
with a small drum in his hand, on which he played and at 
the same time sang a song in praise of seal hunting; the 
chorus answered him with ‘ Eia, eia, a ! * and at the same 
time hopped round the circle in their white fur coats looking 
like polar bears. They wagged their heads and rolled their 
eyes in the wildest way. Then they held a mock court of 
justice. The litigants stepped forward and the plaintiff 
rehearsed his opponent’s faults all in a bold and mocking 
manner; the rest meanwhile dancing to the music of the 
drum. The defendant replied in the same spirit, and the 
assemblage laughingly gave their judgment. Thunders 
resounded from the mountains when portions of the ice 
fields slipped away, and great masses broke off shivering 
into dust. It was a typical Greenland summer night. 

“ A hundred paces away, under a tent of skins, lay a sick 
man ; life was still coursing through his veins, yet he was to 
die. He knew it himself, and those standing round him 
knew it too, so much so that his wife was already sewing up 
the skin robe around him so as not to have to touch the 
dead man later. She asked him, ‘ will you be buried on the 
Fells, in the hard snow, or would you rather be sunk in the 
sea ? ’ ‘ In the sea,’ he whispered and nodded with a sad 

smile. ‘Yes, the sea is a cosy summer tent,’ said the woman. 
‘ Thousands of seals sport about in it and the walrus will 
sleep at your feet; the chase is certain and plenty of it.’ 


What the Moon Saw 237 

The children howled and tore away the tightened skin from 
the window, so that the dying man might be borne down to 
the sea, the swelling ocean which gave him food in life, and 
now in death a resting place ! His headstone was the 
floating iceberg which changes from day to day. Seals 
slumber on the ice, and the albatross spreads its great wings 
above it.” 

TENTH EVENING 

“I knew an old maid,” said the moon; “she used to 
wear a yellow satin pelisse in winter. It was always new, 
and she never varied the fashion of it. Every summer she 
used to wear the same straw hat and, I believe, a bluish 
grey dress. She only used to go and see one old friend, 
who lived across the street ; but for the last few years she 
did not go, for her friend was dead. My old friend bustled 
about in her loneliness by her window, which was always 
full of beautiful flowers in summer, and in the winter she 
grew splendid mustard and cress on a piece of felt. For the 
last few months she has not appeared at the window, but I 
knew that she still lived, for I had not seen her take the 
great journey about which she and her friend talked so 
much. * Yes,’ she used to say, ‘when my time comes to die, 
I shall travel much further than I have ever done in my 
whole life. Our family burial place is twenty miles from 
here, and I am to be taken there for my last sleep with the 
rest of my family ! * Last night a van stopped at the door, 
and a coffin was carried out, so I knew that she was dead. 
They put straw round the coffin and drove off. In it slept 
the quiet old maid, who for the last few years had not been 
outside the house. The van rattled quickly out of the 
town, as if bent on a pleasure trip. They went faster still 
when they reached the high road. The driver looked over 
his shoulder every now and then; I believe he was half 
afraid of seeing the old lady sitting there, on the top of the 
coffin, in her yellow pelisse. Then he whipped up the 
horses mercilessly and held them in so tightly that they 
foamed at the mouth, a hare darted across the road, and 
they got beyond the man’s control. The quiet old maid, 
who year in, year out, had moved so slowly in her daily 
round, now that she was dead, was being hurried at a 
headlong pace over stock and stone along the road. The 
coffin, which was wrapped in mats, slipped off the van and 


238 What the Moon Saw 

fell on to the road, while driver, horses, and van rushed 
away in their wild flight. A little lark flew up from the 
field and burst into its morning song, right over the coffin. 
It perched on it and pecked at the matting, as if to tear the 
shell asunder, then it rose gaily warbling into the air, and 
I drew back behind the rosy clouds of dawn ! ” 

ELEVENTH EVENING 

“It was a bridal feast ! ” said the moon. “ Songs were 
sung, toasts were drunk, everything was gay and festive. 
The guests went away ; it was past midnight. The mothers 
kissed the bride and the bridegroom. Then I saw them 
alone, but the curtains were almost closely drawn ; the 
comfortable room was lit up by a lamp. 4 Thank goodness 
they are all gone/ said he, kissing her hands and her lips. 
She smiled and wept and leant her head upon his breast, 
trembling like the lotus flower upon the flowing waters. 
They talked together in tender glowing words. ‘ Sleep 
sweetly ! * he exclaimed, and she drew aside the window 
curtain. 4 How beautifully the moon is shining ! ’ she said ; 
4 see how still and clear it is ! * Then she put out the lamp, 
and the cosy room was dark, except for my beams, which 
shone as brightly as his eyes. Oh womanhood, kiss thou 
the poet’s lyre, when he sings of the mysteries of life ! ” 

TWELFTH EVENING 

“ I will give you a picture of Pompeii,” said the moon. 
“ I was in the outskirts of the town, in the street of Tombs, 
as it is called, where the beautiful monuments stand ; it is 
the place where once, joyous youths crowned with roses, 
danced with the fair sisters of Lais. Now the stillness of 
death reigns. German soldiers in the Neapolitan pay keep 
guard and play at cards and dice. A crowd of strangers 
from the other side of the mountains came into the town 
with guides. They wanted to see this city risen from the 
grave under my full beams. I showed them the chariot 
tracks in the streets paved with slabs of lava; I showed 
them the names on the doors and the signboards still 
hanging. In the small courtyards they saw the basins of the 
fountains decorated with shells, but no stream of water 
played, and no songs resounded from the richly painted 


What the Moon Saw 239 

chambers where the metal dogs guarded the doors. It was 
indeed a city of the dead, only Vesuvius thundered forth 
its everlasting hymn, the several verses of which are called 
by man, ‘a new eruption.’ We went to the Temple of 
Venus, built of dazzling white marble, with its high altar in 
front of the broad steps, and the weeping-willow shooting up 
among the pillars. The air was blue and transparent, and 
in the background stood Vesuvius, inky black, with its 
column of fire like the stem of a pine tree. In the dark- 
ness the cloud of smoke looked like the crown of the tree, 
only it was blood-red illuminated by the internal flames. A 
songstress was among the company, a great and noted one ; 
I have seen the homage paid to her in the various capitals 
of Europe. When they reached the tragic theatre, they all 
sat down on the stone steps of the amphitheatre. They 
filled up a little corner of it as in centuries gone by. The 
stage still stood with its walled side scenes, and two arches 
in the background through which one sees the same 
decoration as was seen then — nature herself, the hills 
between Amalfi and Sorrento. For a joke the singer 
mounted the stage and sang, for the place inspired her. I 
thought of the wild Arab horse, when it neighs, tosses its 
mane, and tears away — her song was so light and yet so 
assured. I also thought of the suffering mother beneath 
the cross on Golgotha, it was so full of deep feeling and 
pain. Round about echoed, just as it had done a thousand 
years ago, the sound of applause and delight. ‘Happy, 
gifted creature ! ’ they all cried. Three minutes later the 
stage was empty and not a sound was to be heard. The 
company departed, but the ruins stood unchanged, as they 
will stand for centuries, and no one will know of the 
momentary burst of applause, the notes of the beautiful 
songstress and her smiles ; they are past and gone. Even 
to me they are but a vanished memory.” 

THIRTEENTH EVENING 

“ I peeped through the windows of an editor’s office,” said 
the moon. “ It was somewhere in Germany. It was well 
furnished; there were many books and a perfect chaos of 
papers. Several young men were present, and the editor 
stood by the desk. Two small books, both by young 
authors, were to be reviewed. ‘ This one has been sent to 


240 What the Moon Saw 

me,’ he said ; * I have not read it yet, but it is nicely got up ; 
what do you say about the contents ? ’ ‘ Oh,’ said one, who 

was himself a poet, ‘ it is pretty good, a little drawn out 
perhaps, but he is a young man still. The verses might be 
better, but the thoughts are sound if a little commonplace. 
What are you to say ? you can’t always think of something 
new. You will be quite safe in praising him, though I don’t 
suppose he will ever be a great poet. He is well read, a 
first rate Oriental scholar, and he has judgment. It was he 
who wrote that nice article on my “ Reflections on Domestic 
Life.” One must be kind to a young man.’ 

“ ‘ But he must be a regular ass ! ’ said another man in the 
room ; ‘ nothing is worse in poetry than mediocrity, and he 
will never rise above it.’ 

“ ‘ Poor fellow ! ’ said a third, ‘ and his aunt is so delighted 
with him ; it is she, Mr Editor, who found so many sub- 
scribers to your last translation.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, the good woman. Well, I have reviewed the book 
quite briefly. Unmistakable talent — a welcome offering — a 
flower in the garden of poetry — well got up — and so on. 
But the other book ! I suppose the author wants me to 
buy it. I hear it is being praised. He has genius, don’t 
you think so ? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, they all harp upon that,’ said the poet ; * but he 
talks rather wildly ! And the punctuation is most peculiar.’ 

“ ‘ It would do him good to pull him to pieces a bit and 
enrage him, or he will think too highly of himself ! ” 

“ ‘ But that would be rather unreasonable,’ cried another ; 
‘don’t let us carp at his small faults, rather let us rejoice 
over his good points : and he has many. He beats all the 
others.’ 

“ ‘ Heaven preserve us ! If he is such a genius he will 
be able to stand some rough handling. There are plenty 
of people to praise him in private. Don’t let us make him 
mad ! ’ 

“ ‘ Unmistakable talent,’ wrote the editor, ‘ with the usual 
want of care ; that he can write incorrect verses may be seen 
on page 25, where there are two false quantities. A study 
of the Ancients is recommended, and so on ! ’ 

“ I went away,” said the moon, “and peeped through the 
window into the aunt’s room where the cherished poet sat, 
the tame one. He was worshipped by all the guests, and 
quite happy. I sought the other poet, the wild one, he was 


What the Moon Saw 241 

also at a large party, in the house of one of his admirers, 
where they were talking of the other poet’s book. ‘ I mean 
to read yours too,’ said Msecenas ; ‘ but you know I never 
tell you anything but what I think, and to tell the truth, I 
do not expect great things of you, you are too wild and too 
fantastic ; but I acknowledge, that as a man you are very 
respectable.’ 

“ A young girl sat in a corner, and she read in a book 
these words : 

‘ Let stifled genius lie below, 

While you on dullness praise bestow, 

So has it been from ages past 

And aye will be, while earth doth last.* ” 


FOURTEENTH EVENING 

The moon said to me : “ There are two cottages by the 
roadside in the wood, the doors are low and the windows 
crooked, but the buckthorn and the berberis cluster round 
them. The roofs are overgrown with moss, yellow flowers 
and houseleek. There are only cabbages and potatoes in 
the little garden, but near the fence is a flowering elder- 
bush, and beneath it sat a little girl ; her brown eyes were 
fixed upon the old oak between the cottages. It had a 
great gnarled trunk, and the crown had been sawn off, and 
the stork had built his nest on the top of the trunk. He 
was standing there now clattering his beak. A little boy 
came out and placed himself beside the girl, they were 
brother and sister. 

“ ‘ What are you looking at ? ’ he asked. 

‘“Iam looking at the stork,’ she said ; * the woman next 
door has told me that he is going to bring us a little brother 
or sister to-night, and I am watching to see them come.’ 

“ ‘ The stork won’t bring one,’ said the boy ; ‘ our neigh- 
bour told me the same thing, but she laughed when she said 
it, and I asked if she dared swear by the name of God, and 
she dared not, so I know very well that all that nonsense 
about the stork is just something they make up for us 
children ! ’ 

“ ‘ Where will the little baby come from then?’ asked the girl. 

“ ‘ Our Lord will bring it,’ said the boy. ‘ God has it 
under His mantle ; but nobody can see God, and so we 
shall not see Him bring it.’ 


242 What the Moon Saw 

“Just then a gust of wind rustled through the leaves of 
the elderbush, and the children clasped their hands and 
looked at each other. It must be God sending the baby ! — 
they took hold of each other’s hands. The cottage door 
opened, and a woman appeared. ‘ Come in now,’ she said ; 
* come in and see what the stork has brought ; it is a little 
brother ! ’ 

“The children nodded, they knew well enough he had 
come.” 

FIFTEENTH EVENING 

“ I was passing over Limborg heath,” said the moon, 
“and I saw a lonely hut by the wayside. Some leafless 
trees grew round it, on one of which a nightingale was sing- 
ing; it had lost its way. I knew that it must die of the 
cold, and that it was its swan-song I heard. At daybreak a 
caravan came along, of emigrant peasants, on their way to 
Bremen or Hamburg to take ship for America, where good 
fortune, the fortune of their dreams, was awaiting them. 
The women were carrying the babies and the bigger children 
skipped along beside them. A wretched horse drew a van 
on which were a few miserable articles of furniture. A cold 
wind blew and a little girl clung closer to her mother, who 
looked up at my waning disc, and thought what bitter need 
they had endured at home, and of the heavy taxes which 
could not be paid. Her thoughts were those of the whole 
caravan, so the red dawn shone upon them, like a glimmer 
from that sun of fortune, which was about to arise. They 
heard the song of the dying nightingale, and to them it was 
no false prophet, but rather a harbinger of good fortune. 
The wind whistled sharply, and they did not understand its 
song. Sail on securely over the ocean ! you have given all 
that you possessed in return for the journey ; poor and 
helpless you will land upon the shores of your Canaan. 
You must sell yourself, your wife and your children, but you 
shall not suffer long. The goddess of death lurks behind 
the broad, fragrant leaves, her kiss of welcome will breathe 
pestilential fever into your blood ! Sail on, sail on over the 
surging waters ! But the travellers listened happily to the 
song of the nightingale, for it promised them good fortune. 
Daylight shone through the floating clouds, and peasants 
were wending their way over the heath to church. The 
women in their black dresses and with white kerchiefs round 


What the Moon Saw 243 

their heads looked as if they might have stepped down out 
of the old pictures in the church. Round about there was 
only the great dead plain covered with brown withered 
heather, and the white sand hills beyond. The women held 
their prayer-books in their hands and wandered on towards 
the church. Ah, pray, pray for those whose steps are lead- 
ing them to the grave beyond the rolling waters 1 ” 

SIXTEENTH EVENING 

“ I know a Punchinello, ” said the moon. “ The public 
shout directly they see him, each of his movements is so 
comic that the whole house roars when he appears ; his per- 
sonality makes them laugh, not his art. Even when he was 
little, playing about with the other boys, he was already a 
Punchinello. Nature had made him one; she had given 
him a hump on his back and one on his chest. But the 
inner man, the soul, ah, that was richly endowed. No one 
had deeper feelings or greater elasticity of mind than he. 
The theatre was his ideal world. If he had been slender 
and well made he would have been the first tragedian on any 
stage. The great and the heroic filled his soul, and yet he 
had to be a Punchinello. Even his pain and his melancholy 
increased the comic dryness of his sharply-cut features, and 
called forth laughter from the multitudes who applauded 
their favourite. The pretty Columbine was kind and friendly, 
but she preferred marrying the Harlequin. It would have 
been far too comic in real iife if Beauty and the Beast had 
joined hands. When Punchinello was in low spirits she was 
the only person who could make him smile, nay, even laugh 
outright. At first she would be melancholy too, then gay, 
and at last full of fun. ‘ I know what is the matter with you, 
well enough ! ’ said she ; you are in love/ ‘ I and love,’ he 
exclaimed ; ‘ we should be a nice pair ! How the public 
would applaud us !’ ‘You are in love/ she repeated, ‘You 
are in love with me/ That might very well be said when one 
knew there was no question of love. Punchinello laughed, 
and bounded into the air, all his melancholy was gone. Yet 
she had spoken the truth ; he loved her, worshipped her, as 
he worshipped all that was highest and best in Art. At her 
wedding he was the merriest person there, but at night he 
wept bitter tears. Had the public seen his distorted face 
they would indeed have applauded. 


244 What the Moon Saw 

“ Quite lately Columbine had died, and on the day of her 
burial Harlequin had a holiday; was he not a sorrowing 
widower? The manager was obliged to produce something 
more than usually merry, so that the public should not miss 
pretty Columbine. Therefore Punchi- 
nello had to be doubly lively ; he danced 
and bounded with despair in his heart, 
and he was more applauded than ever. 
‘ Bravo ! Bravissimo ! ’ Punchinello was 
called forward, he was indeed above 
all price. 

“ Last night after the performance the 
little hunchback wandered out of the 
town to the lonely churchyard. The 
wreaths were already withering on 
Columbine’s grave. He sat down upon 
it. It would have made a touching 
picture, with his hand under his chin, 
his eyes turned towards me; he was 
like a monument, a Punchinello on a 
grave, characteristic and comical. If 
the public had seen their favourite how 
they would have shouted, ‘ Bravo ! 
Bravissimo! Punchinello.’” 

SEVENTEENTH EVENING 

Listen to what the moon told me. 

“ I have seen the cadet become an 
officer, and for the first time put on his 
handsome uniform. I have seen the 
young girl in her ball dress, and I have 
seen a royal bride rejoicing in her festal 
robes; but I have never seen greater 
delight than I saw last night in a child, 
a little four year old girl. She had on 
a new blue frock and a pink hat ; they 
had just been put on, and the bystanders were calling for 
lights. The moon shining through the window gave too 
faint a light, they must have something brighter altogether. 
There stood the little girl as stiff as any doll, holding her 
arms away from the dress, each finger stuck stiffly out ! Oh ! 
how her eyes glistened, and her whole face beamed with 



What the Moon Saw 245 

delight. ‘To-morrow you shall go out in them,’ said the 
mother ; and the little one looked down at her frock and 
smiled contentedly. ‘ Mother ! * she said, ‘ what will the 
dogs think when they see me in all my pretty things ! 1 ” 


EIGHTEENTH EVENING 

“ I have told you,” said the moon, “ about Pompeii, that 
city of the dead resuscitated, and again ranking among living 
places. I know another town even more fantastic ; it is not 
so much the corpse as it is the ghost of a city. I seem to 
hear the romance of the floating city wherever the fountains 
play into their marble basins. Yes, water must tell its story, 
the waves of the sea sing its song ! A mist often floats over 
the stretches of its waters; that is its veil of widowhood. 
The bridegroom of the sea is dead; his palace and town 
are now his mausoleum. Do you know this city? Never 
has the roll of wheels or the clatter of horses’ hoofs been 
heard in its streets. The fish swim in them, and the black 
gondola skims over the surface of its green waters. I will 
show you,” continued the moon, “ the Forum of the town, 
its grand square, and you may imagine yourself to have been 
in Fairyland. The grass grows between its broad flags, and 
at dawn thousands of tame pigeons flutter round its solitary 
lofty tower. On three sides of it you are surrounded by 
colonades; under their shelter the silent Turk sits smoking 
his long pipe. A handsome Greek boy leans against the 
columns, and looks up at the trophies and lofty masts raised 
around, memorials of its ancient power. The flags droop 
from them like mourning scarves. Here a girl is resting; 
she has put down her heavy water pails, and the yoke in 
which she carried them hangs on her shoulders ; she supports 
herself against the column of Victory. That is no Fairy 
palace there in front of you ; it is a church ; its gilt cupolas 
and balls glitter in my beams. Those majestic bronze horses 
have travelled, like the bronze horse in the Fairy tale. They 
came hither, went hence, and again returned. Do you see 
the gorgeous colouring on the walls and in the window 
panes ? It looks as if genius had given way to the whims 
of some child in adorning the wonderful Temple. Do you 
see the winged lion on its column ? The gold still glitters, 
but its wings are bound ; the lion is dead, for the king of 


246 What the Moon Saw 

the sea is dead; his great halls are empty, and there are 
only bare walls now where costly pictures used to hang. 
The Lazzaroni sleep now under the arches, on whose floor 
only the highest nobles in the land dared at one time to 
tread. From the deep wells — or does it come from the 
leaden chambers near the Bridge of Sighs ? — sounds a groan, 
just as in the days when tambourines sounded from the 
gondolas with their gay trappings, when the bridal ring 
flew from the brilliant Bucentaur to Adria, queen of the 
sea. Oh, Adria, wrap thyself in the mist ! Let thy widow’s 
veil cover thy bosom ! Hang it over the mausoleum of 
the bridegroom, oh, Venice, thou city of ghostly, marble 
palaces.” 

NINETEENTH EVENING 

“ I was looking down on a large theatre,” said the moon. 
“ The whole house was crammed with spectators, for a new 
actor was to make his dibut. My beams glided over a little 
window in the wall. A painted face was pressed against its 
panes ; it was the hero of the evening. The knightly beard 
curled around his chin, but there were tears in the man’s 
eyes, for he had been hissed off the stage, and rightly 
hissed off. Poor fellow! But a ‘poor fellow’ can’t be 
tolerated in the Kingdom of Art. His feelings were deep, 
and he loved his art enthusiastically, but art did not love 
him. The call bell rang; the hero enters; ‘boldly and 
gallantly’ was the stage direction. He had to face an 
audience to whom he was a laughing-stock. When the 
piece came to an end, I saw a man, muffled in a cloak, 
creep downstairs. It was the crushed knight of the evening, 
the scene-shifters whispered to each other. I followed the 
poor wretch to his home. Hanging is an ugly death, and 
one has not always got poison at hand. I know he thought 
of both. I saw him look at his pale face in the glass, and 
half shut his eyes to see if he would be a handsome corpse. 
A man may be most unhappy and yet very affected. He 
thought of death, of suicide; I believe he wept over him- 
self ; he wept bitterly ; and when a man has been able to 
shed tears he does not kill himself. 

“ A whole year has passed since then. There was a play 
being acted at a small theatre by a poor touring company, 
I saw a well-known face, the painted cheeks and curly beard. 
He looked up at me and smiled ; and yet he had been hissed 


What the Moon Saw 247 

off the stage only a minute ago ; hissed by a miserable, low- 
class audience in a wretched theatre ! 

“ To-night a poor hearse drove out of the town gates, not 
a soul following it. It was a suicide — our poor, painted, 
despised hero. The driver was the only mourner, nobody 
else, only the moon. The suicide is laid in the corner of 
the churchyard, under the wall. The nettles will soon shoot 
up, and the grave-diggers will throw weeds and rubbish on it 
from other graves.” 

TWENTIETH EVENING 

“ I come from Rome,” said the moon. “ There in the 
middle of the town, on the summit of one of the seven hills, 
stands the ruins of the palace of Caesars. The wild fig grows 
now in the crevices of the walls, covering their nakedness 
with its broad greyish green leaves. The ass treads down 
its laurel hedges among the heaps of stones, and browses on 
the barren thistle. Here, whence once the eagles of Rome 
fluttered, — came, saw, and conquered — there is now the 
entrance to a poor little hovel plastered up with clay 
between the two broken marble columns. The vine hangs 
like a mourning wreath over its crooked windows. An old 
woman lives in it with her little granddaughter; they now 
rule in the palace of the Caesars, and show its treasures to 
visitors. There is only a bare wall left standing of the rich 
throne room ; the dark cypress points with its long shadows 
to where the throne once stood. The earth is heaped high 
over the ruined floor, and the little girl, now sole daughter 
of the Caesars, often brings her footstool there when the 
evening bells ring. She calls the keyhole in the door close 
by her balcony, for she can see half Rome through it, as far 
as the mighty dome of St Peter’s. Silence reigned, as 
always, this evening when the little girl came out into the 
full light of my beams. She was carrying a water jar of 
antique' shape on her head : her feet were bare, her short 
skirt and the sleeves of her little chemise were ragged. I 
kissed the child’s delicately rounded shoulders, her dark 
eyes, and black shining hair. She climbed up the steps to 
the little house, they were steep and made of sharp bits of 
marble from the broken columns. Gaily coloured lizards 
darted about among her feet, but they did not startle her. 
She was just raising her hand to the bell pull, this was a 

R 


248 What the Moon Saw 

hare’s foot at the end of a piece of string, such is the bell 
now in the palace of the Caesars. She paused a moment, — 
what was she thinking about ? Perhaps about the beautiful 
Infant Jesus wrapped in gold and silver down in the chapel, 
where the silver lamps gleamed, and where her little friends 
took part in singing the hymns which she knew too ; I do 
not know, — she moved forward again, tripped, and the jar 
fell from her head, on to the steps, where it was broken to 
atoms upon the fluted marble. She burst into tears. The 
beautiful daughter of the Ccesars, weeping over the poor 
broken jar. There she stood with her bare feet, weeping, 
and dared not pull the string — the bell rope of the palace 
of the Caesars.” 


TWENTY-FIRST EVENING 

The moon had not shone for over a fortnight, but now I 
saw it again ; it rose round and bright above the slowly 
moving clouds. Listen to what it told me. 

“ I followed a caravan from one of the towns of the 
Fezzan. They made a halt near the desert by one of the 
salt plains ; it shone like a sheet of ice, and was covered 
only in parts with quicksands. An elder among them, 
with a water bottle hanging at his belt, and a bag of 
unleavened bread lying by him, drew a square with his staff 
in the sand and wrote in it some words from the Koran. 
After this the whole caravan entered within the consecrated 
space. A young merchant, a child of the sun — I saw it in 
his eyes and in the beautiful lines of his figure — rode his 
fiery white steed thoughtfully. Was he perhaps thinking of 
his fair young wife ? It was only two days since a camel 
covered with skins and costly shawls carried her, his lovely 
bride round the walls of the town, to the sound of drums 
and pipes. Women sang and festive salvoes were fired ; the 
loudest and most frequent were fired by the bridegroom 
himself, and now — now he was leading the caravan through 
the desert. I followed them for many nights ; I saw them 
rest by the wells among the dwarf palms. They stuck their 
knives into the breast of the fallen camel, and roasted the 
meat by the fire. My beams cooled the burning sand, my 
beams showed them the buried rocks like submerged islands 
in a sea of sand. They encountered no unfriendly tribes on 
the trackless plain, no storms arose, and no sand-storm 


What the Moon Saw 249 

swept mercilessly over the caravan. At home the lovely 
wife prayed for her husband and her father. ‘Are they 
dead ? * she asked my golden horns. * Are they dead ? , she 
asked my shining disc. Now the desert lies behind them, 
and this evening they sit beneath the lofty palm trees, where 
the crane spreads its broad wings and the pelican watches 
them through the branches of the mimosa. The luxuriant 
thicket is trodden down by the heavy feet of the elephant ; 



a troop of negroes are returning from the market far inland. 
The women have copper beads twisted round their heads of 
frizzled hair, and they are clad in skirts of indigo blue. 
They drive the heavily laden oxen, on whose backs the 
naked black children lie sleeping. A negro leads by a rope 
a young lion which he has bought; they approach the 
caravan. The young merchant sits motionless and silent, 
thinking of his lovely bride ; dreaming in the land of the 
blacks, of his white flower beyond the desert, he lifts his 
head ! ”• 

A cloud passed over the moon, and then another ; I heard 
no more that evening. 



250 


What the Moon Saw 


TWENTY-SECOND EVENING 

“ I saw a little girl crying,” said the moon. “ She was 
crying at the wickedness of the world. The loveliest doll in 
the world had been given to her. Oh, it was most delicate 
and fragile, and certainly not fit to face adversity. But the 
little girl’s brothers, great big boys, had taken the doll away 
and put it up into a high tree, and then had run away. The 
poor little girl could not get it down, or get at it in any way, 
so she sat down and cried. The doll no doubt was crying 
too ; it stretched out its arms among the branches, and 
looked most unhappy. Yes, this must be the adversity of 
the world, about which mama talked so much. Oh, the 
poor doll ! Evening was coming on, it was getting dark, and 
it would soon be night. Was it to stay out there all alone 
in the tree for the whole night ? No, the little girl could not 
endure the thought. ‘ I will stay with you,’ she said, although 
she was not at all courageous, and she fancied already that 
she could see the little Brownies in their high-pointed caps 
peeping through the bushes, and there were long ghostly 
shadows dancing about in the dark walk. They came 
nearer and nearer, and stretched out their hands towards 
the tree where the doll was sitting ; and they laughed and 
pointed their fingers at her. Oh ! how frightened the little 
girl was. ‘ But if one has committed no sin,’ she thought, 
‘ evil can do one no harm. I wonder if I have sinned ! ’ 
Then she began to think. ‘ Oh yes,’ she said, ‘ I laughed 
at the poor duck with a red rag round its leg, it looked so 
funny limping along, so I laughed, and it is a sin to laugh 
at dumb animals.’ Then she looked up at her doll. ‘ Have 
you ever laughed at dumb animals ? ’ And the doll seemed 
to shake its head.” 


TWENTY-THIRD EVENING 

“ I looked down in the Tyrol,” said the moon “ I let 
the dark pine trees throw their long shadows on to the 
rocks. I saw St Christopher with the child Jesus on his 
back, as they are painted on the walls of the houses ; they 
are colossal in size, reaching from the ground to the tops of 
the gables. There is also St Florian pouring water on the burn- 
ing house, and the Saviour hanging bleeding on the cross 


What the Moon Saw 251 

at the roadside. These are old pictures to the new genera- 
tion, but I saw their origin. There is a solitary convent 
perched upon the mountain-side like a swallow’s nest. Two 
of the sisters were standing up in the tower ringing the bell ; 
they were both young, so their glances roamed over the 
mountains into the wide world beyond. A travelling carri- 
age drove along the high road ; the post horn sounded gaily 
and the poor nuns fixed their eyes, filled with the same 
thoughts, upon the carriage; a tear stood in those of the 
youngest. The sound of the horn grew fainter and fainter 
till its dying notes were drowned by the convent bell.” 

TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING 

Hear what the moon told me. 

“ Several years ago I was in Copenhagen ; I peeped in at 
the window of a poor little room. The father and mother 
were both asleep, but their little son was awake. I saw the 
flowered chintz curtains stirring and the child peeped out. 
I thought at first that he was looking at the grandfather’s 
clock from Bornholm. It was gaily painted in red and 
green and a cuckoo sat at the top ; it had heavy laden 
weights and the pendulum, with its shining brass disc, swung 
backwards and forwards ‘ Tick, tack ’ ; but that was not 
what he was looking at. No, it was his mother’s spinning- 
wheel which stood under the clock. It was the boy’s dearest 
treasure in all the house, but he dared not touch it or he 
would be rapped over the knuckles. He would stand for 
hours, while his mother was spinning, looking at the whirl- 
ing spindle and the whizzing wheel, and he had his own 
thoughts about them. Oh, if only he dared spin with that 
wheel ; father and mother were asleep ; he looked at them, 
he looked at the wheel, and soon he put one bare little foot 
out of bed, and then another little bare foot followed by two 
little legs — bump, there he stood upon the floor. He turned 
round once more to see if father and mother were still asleep. 
Yes, they were fast asleep ; so he went softly, very softly in 
his short little shirt, to the wheel and began to spin. The 
cord flew off and the wheel ran faster and faster. I kissed 
his yellow hair and his large blue eyes. It was a pretty 
picture. 

“ His mother woke just then. She put the curtain aside 
and looked out and thought she saw a Brownie or some 


252 What the Moon Saw 

other little sprite. ‘In Heaven’s name,’ she said, pushing 
her husband ; he opened his eyes, rubbed them, and looked 
at the busy little figure. ‘ Why, it is our Bertel ! ’ he said. 
And my eye turned away from the poor little room. My 
glances extend so far that at the same moment I looked in 
at the galleries of the Vatican where the sculptured gods 
stand. I flooded the Laocoon group with my light, and the 
marble seemed to sigh. I pressed a gentle kiss upon the 
bosom of the muses ; they almost seemed to move. But 
my glance rested longest upon the great Nile-group with the 
colossal god. He leant pensively against the Sphinx, dreamy 
and thoughtful, as if he was pondering on the bygone years. 
Little Cupids played around him sporting with the crocodiles. 
One tiny little Cupid sat inside the cornucopia with his arms 
folded looking at the great solemn river-god. He was a 
true picture of the little boy at the spinning-wheel, his 
features were the same. This little marble child was life- 
like and graceful in the extreme, yet the wheel of time had 
turned more than a thousand times since he sprang from the 
marble. Just so many times as the little boy turned the 
spinning-wheel in the humble little room had the greater 
wheel of time whirled round, and yet will whirl, before the 
present time creates marble gods like these. 

“Now all this happened years ago,” continued the moon. 
“ Yesterday I looked down on to a bay on the east coast of 
Zealand. The cliffs round it were beautifully wooded, and 
in the midst of the woods stood an old red castle with swans 
swimming in the moat. A little country town lay near with 
its church buried among apple trees. A procession of boats 
with blazing torches glided over the smooth waters ; these 
torches were not lighted for spearing eels. No, it was a 
great festivity ; there were sounds of music and singing, and 
in one of the boats stood the object of all the homage. He 
was a tall powerful man wrapped in a cloak ; he had blue 
eyes and long white hair. 1 knew him and thought of the 
Vatican and the Nile group among all the sculptured gods. 
Then I thought of the poor little room ; I believe it was in 
‘Gronne-gade’ where little Bertel sat spinning in his little 
shirt. The wheel of time had been turning and new gods 
have arisen from the marble since then. From the boats 
came ‘ Hurrah, hurrah for Bertel Thorwaldsen ! ’ ” 


What the Moon Saw 


253 


TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING 

“ I will give you a picture from Frankfort,” said the moon. 
“ I looked at one building in particular. It was not Goethe’s 
birthplace, nor the old Townhall, where through the grated 
windows may still be seen the horns of the oxen which were 
roasted and given to the people at the coronation of the 
Emperor. No, it was a burgher’s house I looked at ; it was 
painted green and was quite plain ; it stood at the corner of the 
narrow Jews’ street. It was Rothschild’s house. I looked in 
through the open door, the staircase was brightly lighted, 
footmen stood there holding burning lights in massive silver 
candlesticks, bending low before the old woman who was 
being carried down in a carrying chair. The owner of the 
house stood with bared head and pressed a respectful kiss 
upon her hand. She was his mother ; she nodded kindly 
to him and the footmen, and they carried her into a little 
house in the dark narrow street. Here she lived, here she 
had borne her children, from here their fortune had blos- 
somed forth. If she now left the little house in the mean 
street perhaps their luck would leave them. This was her 
belief.” 

The moon told me no more; her visit to-night was far 
too short, but I thought of the old woman in the narrow 
mean street. One word from her, and she might have a 
palace on the banks of the Thames ; one word, and she 
would have had a villa on the Bay of Naples. “ Were I to 
leave this humble house where the fortunes of my sons 
originated, their fortune might forsake them.” It is a 
superstition, but a superstition of such a kind, that if one 
knows the story and sees the picture, it only needs two 
words to understand it, “A Mother.” 

TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING 

“ Yesterday at daybreak,” these were the moon’s own 
words, “not a chimney was yet smoking in the great town, 
and it was these very chimneys I was looking at, when 
suddenly a little head popped out at the top of one of them, 
followed by the upper part of a body, with the arms resting 
on the edge of the chimney. ‘Hurrah!’ It was a little 
chimney sweep who had gone right up a chimney for the 


254 What the Moon Saw 

first time in his life, and got his head out at the top. 
‘Hurrah!’ this was a very different matter from creeping 
about in the narrow flues and smaller chimneys. A fresh 
breeze met his face, and he could see right out over the 
town away to the green woods beyond. The sun was just 
rising, big and round, and it shone straight into his face 
which beamed with delight, although it was thoroughly 
smudged with soot. ‘Now the whole town can see me,’ 
said he, ‘and the moon can see me and the sun too, 
hurrah ! ’ and he waved his brush above his head.” 

TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING 

“ Last night I looked down upon a town in China,” said 
the moon; “my beams illumined the long blank walls 
which border the streets. Here and there you certainly find 
a door, but it is always tightly shut, for what does the 
Chinaman care about the outside world ! The windows of 
the houses behind the walls are closely covered with 
jalousies. The Temple was the only place whence a dim 
light shone through the windows. I looked in upon its 
gorgeous colours. The walls from floor to ceiling are 
covered with pictures in strong colours and rich gilding. 
They are representations of the labours of the gods here on 
earth. There is an image of a god in every niche, almost 
hidden by gorgeous draperies and floating banners. Before 
each of the gods — which are all made of tin — stands a little 
altar with holy water, flowers and burning wax tapers. At 
the upper end of the Temple stands Fu, the chief of all the 
gods ; he is draped in silk of the sacred yellow. At the foot 
of the altar sat a living being, a young priest. He seemed 
to be praying, but in the midst of his prayers to fall into a 
reverie ; and no doubt that was a sin, for his cheeks burnt, 
and his head sank lower and lower. Poor Soui-houng ! 
was he in his dream seeing himself behind those dreary 
walls in a little garden of his own working at the flower beds ? 
Perhaps a labour much dearer to him than this of tending 
wax tapers in the Temple. Or was it his desire to sit at a 
richly spread table, wiping his lips between each course 
with tissue paper? Or, was his sin so great, that did he 
dare to express it, the Heavenly powers would punish him 
with death ? Did his thoughts venture to stray with the 
barbarians’ ships to their home in far distant England? 


What the Moon Saw 255 

No, his thoughts did not fly so far a-field, and yet they were 
as sinful as only the hot blood of youth can conceive them. 
Sinful, here in the Temple, before the image of Fu and the 
other gods. I know whither his thoughts had wandered. 

“ In the outskirts of the town, upon the flat flagged roof 
of a house where the parapet seemed to be made of 
porcelain, and among handsome vases full of large white 
bell-shaped flowers, sat the lovely Pe, with her narrow 
roguish eyes, full lips and tiny feet. Her shoes pinched, 
but the pressure at her heart was far greater, and she 
wearily raised her delicately modelled arms in their rustling 
satin sleeves. In front of her stood a glass bowl with four 
gold fish in it; she slowly stirred the water with a little 
painted and lacquered stick, slowly, oh very slowly, for she 
was musing. Was she thinking how richly the fish were 
clad in gold, and how securely they lived in their glass 
bowl with all their plentiful food, and yet how much happier 
they would be if they had their freedom ? Ah, yes, the fair 
Pe thoroughly comprehended that. Her thoughts wandered 
from her home and sought the Temple, but not for the sake 
of God ! Poor P£ ! Poor Soui-houng ! their earthly thoughts 
met, but my cold beams fell between them like an angel’s 
sword ! ” 

TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING 

“ It was a dead calm,” said the moon ; “ the water was as 
transparent as the pure air that I was traversing. I could 
see the curious plants down under the water, they were like 
giant forest trees stretching towards me, many fathoms long. 
The fish swam over their tops ; a flock of wild swans were 
flying past high up in the air ; one of them sank with 
outspread wings lower and lower. It followed with its eyes 
the aerial caravan, as the distance between them rapidly 
increased. It held its wings outspread and motionless, and 
sank as a soap bubble sinks in the quiet air; when it 
touched the surface of the water, it bent its head back 
between its wings, and lay as still as the white lotus blossom 
on a tranquil lake. A gentle breeze rose and swelled the 
glittering surface of the phosphorescent water, brilliant as 
ether itself rolling on in great broad billows. The swan 
lifted its head and the sparkling water dashed over its back 
and breast like blue flames. Dawn shed its rosy light 
around, and the swan soared aloft with renewed vigour 


256 What the Moon Saw 

towards the rising sun, towards the faint blue coast line, 
whither the aerial caravan took its flight. But it flew alone 
with longing in its breast. Solitary it flew over the swelling 
blue waters.” 


TWENTY-NINTH EVENING 

“ I will give you one more picture from Sweden,” said 
the moon. “Among gloomy forests near the melancholy 
shores of the Roxen, stands the old convent church of 
Wreta. My beams fell through a grating in the wall, into a 
spacious vault, where kings slumber in their marble tombs. 
A royal crown glitters on the wall above them as an emblem 
of earthly glory ; a royal crown, but it is made of painted 
wood, and kept in place by a wooden peg driven into the 
wall. Worms have gnawed through the gilded wood; the 
spider has spun its web from the crown to the coffln. It is 
a mourning banner, frail and transient as the grief of 
mortals. How calm their slumber ! I remember them 
distinctly. I still see the confident smile around those lips, 
which, so authoritatively and decidedly, uttered words of joy 
or grief. 

“ When the steamer comes up among the mountains like 
a bark from fairyland, many a stranger comes to the church 
and pays a visit to this burial vault. He asks the kings’ 
names, and they echo with a dead and forgotten sound. 
He looks at the worm-eaten crown, and if he has a pious 
mind, there is sadness in his smile. Sleep on, ye Dead ! 
The moon remembers you, the moon sends her cold beams 
in the night, into your silent kingdom, over which the 
wooden crown hangs.” 

THIRTIETH EVENING 

“Close to the high road,” said the moon, “stands an inn, 
and immediately opposite to it is a great waggon shed, the 
roof of which was being thatched. I looked through the 
rafters, and through the open trap door into the uncomfort- 
able space below. A turkey cock was asleep on a beam, 
and a saddle was resting in an empty crib. A travelling 
carriage stood in the middle of the shed. Its owners slept 
in it as safely as possible, while the horses were being fed 
and watered, and the driver stretched his legs, although — 


What the Moon Saw 257 

and I know it for a certainty — he had been fast asleep for 
more than half the way. The door of the groom’s bedroom 
was open, the bed was topsy-turvy, and a candle guttered on 
the floor. The wind whistled cold through the shed, it was 
nearer daybreak than midnight. A party of strolling 
musicians were asleep in a stall. The father and mother I 
daresay were dreaming of the drops of liquid fire in their 
flask, and the pale girl about the tear-drop in her eye; a 
harp lay at their head, and a dog at their feet.” 

THIRTY-FIRST EVENING 

“ It was in a little country town,” said the moon. “ I 
saw it last year, but that doesn’t matter, for I saw it so 
distinctly. To-night I read about it in the papers, but the 
story is not nearly so intelligible in them. A bear-leader 
was sitting in the bar of a public-house eating his supper ; 
his bear was tied up outside behind the wood-shed. Poor 
bear ! he wouldn’t harm a creature, though he looked fierce 
enough. Three little children were playing in the light of 
my beams up in an attic, the eldest was perhaps six years 
old, the youngest not more than two ! Flop, flop ! a muffled 
sound was heard coming up the stairs, who could it be? 
The door flew open, — it was the bear, great shaggy Bruin ! 
He was bored by standing out there in the yard, and he had 
found his way upstairs. I saw it all,” said the moon. “The 
children were very much frightened when they first saw the 
big furry animal ; they each crept into a different corner, but 
he found them out. He snuffed at them all, but did not 
hurt them. ‘ Why it must be a great big dog,’ they thought, 
and they began to pat him. He lay down upon the floor, 
and the smallest boy rolled about on the top of him, and 
played at hiding his golden locks in the bear’s long black 
coat. Then the biggest boy got out his drum, and played 
upon it as hard as ever he could ; as soon as he heard it the 
bear got up on his hind legs and danced ; it was a pretty 
sight. Each boy shouldered his gun, and the bear, of 
course, had to have one too, and he held it as tightly as any 
of them. This was indeed a rare playmate they had got, and 
no mistake. They marched up and down ‘ one, two ; one, 
two ! ’ Just then someone came to the door and opened it, 
it was the children’s mother. You should have seen the 
terrible, speechless agony in her ashen face, with open 


258 What the Moon Saw 

mouth, and starting eyes. But the smallest boy nodded to 
her, he was ever so pleased, and cried out loud, in his baby 
way ‘we are only playing soldiers, mother.’ And then the 
bear-leader made his appearance.” 

THIRTY-SECOND EVENING 

The wind blew strong and cold, the clouds were chasing 
by, and the moon only appeared now and then. 

“ I look down upon the flying clouds from the silence of 
space above ! ” said he. “ I can see the clouds chasing over 
the earth. Just lately I was looking down into a prison, 
outside which stood a closed carriage; a prisoner was about 
to leave. My beams penetrated the grated window and 
shone upon the inside wall. The prisoner was tracing some 
lines upon the wall; it was his farewell. He did not write 
words but a tune ; the outpouring of his heart on his last 
night in this place. The door opened and he was con- 
ducted to the carriage, he looked up at my round disc — 
clouds flew between us, as if he might not see my face nor 
I his. He got into the carriage, the door was shut, the whip 
cracked, and off they went through the thick forest, where 
my beams could not reach. I looked in through the prison 
grating again, and my beams fell once more upon the wall 
where the melody was traced — his last farewell : where words 
fail melody may often speak ! — But my rays only lighted up 
a few isolated notes, the greater part will always remain 
dark to me. Was it a death hymn he wrote ? or were they 
carolling notes of joy? Was he driving to meet his death, 
or to the embrace of his beloved? The beams of the moon 
cannot read all that even mortals write. I look down on 
the flying clouds, from the silence of space above, and I see 
big clouds chasing across the earth.” 

THIRTY-THIRD EVENING 

“I am very fond of children,” said the moon, “the little 
ones especially are so amusing. I often peep at them 
through the curtains when they least think I see them. It 
is so amusing to see them trying to undress themselves; 
first, a little round naked shoulder appears out of the frock, 
then one arm slips out. Or I see a stocking pulled off a 
dimpled little leg, firm and round, and then comes out a 


What the Moon Saw 


259 


little foot made to be kissed, and I kissed it,” said the 
moon. “ I must tell you what I saw to- 
night. I looked in at a window where 
the blind did not reach the bottom, 
for there were no opposite neighbours. 

I saw a whole flock of little ones, 
brothers and sisters. One little girl is 
only four years old, but she knows 
‘Our Father’ as well as any of them, 
and her mother sits by her bed every 
evening to hear it. Then she kisses her 
and sits by her till she falls asleep, 
which generally happens as soon as she 
shuts her eyes. 

“To-night the two eldest were rather 
wild ; one of them hopped about on one 
leg in his long white nightgown. The 
second one stood on a chair with the 
clothes of all the others heaped upon 
him ; he said it was a tableau, and they 
must guess what it meant. The third 
and fourth were putting their toys care- 
fully away in a drawer, and, of course, 
that has to be done, but their mother said 
they must be quiet, for the little one was 
going to say her prayers. I peeped in 
over the lamp,” said the moon. “The 
little four year old girl lay in bed among 
all the fine white linen, her little hands 
were folded, and her face quite grave 
and serious, and she began, ‘ Our Father,’ 
aloud. ‘ But what is this,’ said her 
.mother, interrupting her in the middle. 

‘When you have said, “give us this day 
our daily bread,” you say something 
more which I can’t quite hear ; what is 
it ? You must tell me.’ The little giri 
hesitated, and looked shyly at her 
mother. ‘ What do you say after 
“give us this day our daily bread?”' 

‘Don’t be angry, mother, dear,’ said 
the little one ; 4 1 say, please put plenty of butter on 
it.'” 


The Tinder Box 


A soldier came marching along the high road. One, two ! 
One, two ! He had his knapsack on his back and his sword 
at his side, for he had been to the wars and he was on his 
way home now. He met an old witch on the road, she was 
so ugly, her lower lip hung right down on to her chin. 

She said “ Good evening, soldier ! What a nice sword 
you’ve got, and such a big knapsack ; you are a real soldier ! 
You shall have as much money as ever you like ! ” 

“ Thank you kindly, you old witch ! ” said the soldier. 

“ Do you see that big tree ! said the witch, pointing to a 
tree close by. “ It is hollow inside ! Climb up to the top 
and you will see a hole into which you can let yourself down, 
right down under the tree ! I will tie a rope round your 
waist so that I can haul you up again when you call ! ” 
“What am I to do down under the tree?” asked the 
soldier. 

“ Fetch money ! ” said the witch. “ You must know that 
when you get down to the bottom of the tree you will find 
yourself in a wide passage ; it’s quite light there, for there 
are over a hundred blazing lamps. You will see three doors 
which you can open, for the keys are there. If you go into 
the first room you will see a big box in the middle of the 
floor. A dog is sitting on the top of it, and he has 
eyes as big as saucers, but you needn’t mind that. I will 
give you my blue checked apron, which you can spread out 
on the floor ; then go quickly forward, take up the dog and 
put him on my apron, open the box and take out as much 
money as ever you like. It is all copper, but if you like 
silver better, go into the next room. There you will find a 
dog with eyes as big as millstones; but never mind that, 
put him on my apron and take the money. If you prefer 
gold you can have it too, and as much as you can carry, if 
you go into the third room. But the dog sitting on that 
box has eyes each as big as the Round Tower. He is a 

260 


The Tinder Box 261 

dog, indeed, as you may imagine ! But don’t let it trouble 
you ; you only have to put him on to my apron and then he 
won’t hurt you, and you can take as much gold out of the 
box as you like ! ” 

“ That’s not so bad ! ” said the soldier. “ But what am I 
to give you, old witch ? For you’ll want something, I’ll be 
bound.” 

“ No,” said the witch, “ not a single penny do I want ; 
I only want you to bring me an old tinder box that my 
grandmother forgot the last time she was down there ! ” 

“ Well ! tie the rope round my waist ! ” said the soldier. 

“Here it is,” said the witch, “and here is my blue- 
checked apron.” 

Then the soldier climbed up the tree, let himself slide 
down the hollow trunk, and found himself, as the witch had 
said, in the wide passage where the many hundred lamps 
were burning. 

Now he opened the first door. Ugh ! There sat the dog 
with eyes as big as saucers staring at him. 

“ You are a nice fellow ! ” said the soldier, as he put him 
on to the witch’s apron, and took out as many pennies as he 
could cram into his pockets. Then he shut the box, and 
put the dog on the top of it again, and went into the next 
room. Hallo ! there sat the dog with eyes as big as millstones. 

“ You shouldn’t stare at me so hard ; you might get a pain 
in your eyes ! ” Then he put the dog on the apron, but 
when he saw all the silver in the box he threw away all the 
coppers and stuffed his pockets and his knapsack with silver. 
Then he went on into the third room. Oh ! how horrible ! 
that dog really had two eyes as big as the Round Tower, 
and they rolled round and round like wheels. 

“ Good evening ! ” said the soldier, saluting, for he had 
never seen such a dog in his life ; but after looking at him 
for a bit he thought “ that will do,” and then he lifted him 
down on to the apron and opened the chest. Preserve us ! 
What a lot of gold ! He could buy the whole of Copen- 
hagen with it, and all the sugar pigs from the cake-women, 
all the tin soldiers, whips and rocking-horses in the world ! 
That was money indeed ! Now the soldier threw away all 
the silver he had filled his pockets and his knapsack with, 
and put gold in its place. Yes, he crammed all his pockets, 
his knapsack, his cap and his boots so full that he could 
hardly walk ! Now, he really had got a lot of money. He 


262 The Tinder Box 

put the dog back on to the box, shut the door, and shouted 
up through the tree, “ Haul me up, you old witch ! ” 

“ Have you got the tinder box ? ” 

“Oh! to be sure!” said the soldier. “I had quite 
forgotten it.” And he went back to fetch it. The witch 
hauled him up, and there he was standing on the high road 
again with his pockets, boots, knapsack and cap full of gold. 

“What do you want the tinder box for?” asked the 
soldier. 

“ That’s no business of yours,” said the witch. “ You’ve 
got the money ; give me the tinder box ! ” 

“Rubbish!” said the soldier. “Tell me directly what 
you want with it, or I will draw my sword and cut off your 
head.” 

“ I won’t ! ” said the witch. 

Then the soldier cut off her head; there she lay ! But 
he tied all the money up in her apron, slung it on his back 
like a pack, put the tinder box in his pocket, and marched 
off to the town. 

It was a beautiful town, and he went straight to the finest 
hotel, ordered the grandest rooms and all the food he liked 
best, because he was a rich man now that he had so much 
money. 

Certainly the servant who had to clean his boots thought 
they were very funny old things for such a rich gentleman, 
but he had not had time yet to buy any new ones; the 
next day he bought new boots and fine clothes. The 
soldier now became a fine gentleman, and the people told 
him all about the grand things in the town, and about 
their king, and what a lovely princess his daughter was. 

“ Where is she to be seen ? ” asked the soldier. 

“You can’t see her at all!” they all said; “she lives in 
a great copper castle surrounded with walls and towers. 
Nobody but the king dare go in and out, for it has been 
prophesied that she will marry a common soldier, and the 
king doesn’t like that ! ” 

“ I should like to see her well enough ! ” thought the 
soldier. But there was no way of getting leave for that. 

He now led a very merry life; went to theatres, drove 
about in the King’s Park, and gave away a lot of money 
to poor people, which was very nice of him ; for he 
remembered how disagreeable it used to be not to have a 
penny in his pocket. Now he was rich, wore fine clothes, 


The Tinder Box 263 

and had a great many friends, who all said what a nice 
fellow he was — a thorough gentleman — and he liked to be 
told that. 

But as he went on spending money every day and his 
store was never renewed, he at last found himself with 
only two pence left. Then he was obliged to move out 
of his fine rooms. He had to take a tiny little attic up 
under the roof, clean his own boots, and mend them 
himself with a darning needle. None of his friends went 
to see him, because there were far too many stairs. 

One dark evening when he had not even enough money 
to buy a candle with, he suddenly remembered that there 
was a little bit in the old tinder box he had brought out 
of the hollow tree, when the witch helped him down. He 
got out the tinder box with the candle end in it and struck 
fire, but as the sparks flew out from the flint the door 
burst open and the dog with eyes as big as saucers, which 
he had seen down under the tree, stood before him and 
said, “ What does my lord command ? ” 

“ By heaven ! ” said the soldier, “ this is a nice kind of 
tinder box, if I can get whatever I want like this ! Get me 
some money,” he said to the dog, and away it went. 

It was back in a twinkling with a big bag full of pennies 
in its mouth. 

Now the soldier saw what a treasure he had in the tinder 
box. If he struck once, the dog which sat on the box of 
copper came ; if he struck twice, the dog on the silver box 
came, and if he struck three times, the one from the box 
of gold. 

He now moved down to the grand rooms and got his 
fine clothes again, and then all his friends knew him once 
more and liked him as much as ever. 

Then he suddenly began to think : After all it’s a curious 
thing that no man can get a sight of the princess ! Every- 
one says she is so beautiful ! But what is the good of that, 
when she always has to be shut up in that big copper palace 
with all the towers. Can I not somehow manage to see 
her? Where is my tinder box? Then he struck the flint, 
and, whisk, came the dog with eyes as big as saucers. 

“ It certainly is the middle of the night,” said the soldier, 
“ but I am very anxious to see the princess, if only for a 
single moment. ” 

The dog was out of the door in an instant, and before 

s 


264 The Tinder Box 

the soldier had time to think about it, he was back again 
with the princess. There she was fast asleep on the dog’s 
back, and she was so lovely that anybody could see that 

she must be a real princess ! The soldier could not help 

it, but he was obliged to kiss her, for he was a true soldier. 

Then the dog ran back again with the princess, but in 
the morning when the king and queen were having break- 
fast, the princess said that she had had such a wonderful 
dream about a dog and a soldier. She had ridden on 
the dog’s back, and the soldier had kissed her. 

* That’s a pretty tale,” said the queen. 

After this an old lady-in-waiting had to sit by her bed 

at night to see if this was really a dream, or what it 

could be. 

The soldier longed so intensely to see the princess again 
that at night the dog came to fetch her. He took her up 
and ran o(f with her as fast as he could, but the old lady- 
in-waiting put on her galoshes and ran just as fast behind 
them ) when she saw that they disappeared into a large 
house, she thought now I know where it is, and made a 
big cross with chalk on the gate. Then she went home 
and lay down, and presently the dog came back, too, with 
the princess. When he saw that there was a cross on the 
gate, he took a bit of chalk, too, and made crosses on all 
the gates in the town ; now this was very clever of him, for 
the lady-in-waiting could not possibly find the gate when 
there were crosses on all the gates. 

Early next morning the king, the queen, the lady-in- 
waiting, and all the court officials went to see where the 
princess had been. 

“ There it is,” said the king, when he saw the first door 
with the cross on it. 

“ No, my dear husband, it is there,” said the queen, who 
saw another door with a cross on it. 

“ But there is one, and there is another ! ” they all cried 
out. 

They soon saw that it was hopeless to try and find it. 

Now the queen was a very clever woman ; she knew more 
than how to drive in a chariot. She took her big gold 
scissors and cut up a large piece of silk into small pieces, 
and made a pretty little bag, which she filled with fine 
grains of buckwheat. She then tied it on to the back of 
the princess, and when that was done she cut a little hole 


The Tinder Box 265 

in the bag, so that the grains could drop out all the way 
wherever the princess went. 

At night the dog came again, took the princess on his 
back, and ran off with her to the soldier, who was so fond 
of her that he longed to be a prince, so that he might have 
her for his wife. 

The dog never noticed how the grain dropped out all 
along the road from the palace to the soldier’s window, 
where he ran up the wall with the princess. 

In the morning the king and the queen easily saw where 
their daughter had been, and they seized the soldier and 
threw him into the dungeons. 

There he lay ! Oh, how dark and tiresome it was, and 
then one day they said to him, “ To-morrow you are to be 
hanged.” It was not amusing to be told that, especially as 
he had left his tinder box behind him at the hotel. 

In the morning he could see through the bars in the 
little window that the people were hurrying out of the town 
to see him hanged. He heard the drums and saw the 
soldiers marching along. All the world was going ; among 
them was a shoemaker’s boy in his leather apron and slippers. 
He was in such a hurry that he lost one of his slippers, 
and it fell close under the soldier’s window where he was 
peeping out through the bars. 

“ I say, you boy ! Don’t be in such a hurry,” said the 
soldier to him. “ Nothing will happen till I get there ! 
But if you will run to the house were I used to live, and 
fetch me my tinder box, you shall have a penny! You 
must put your best foot foremost ! ” 

The boy was only too glad to have the penny, and tore 
off to get the tinder box, gave it to the soldier, and — yes, 
now we shall hear. 

Outside the town a high scaffold had been raised, and 
the soldiers were drawn up round about it, as well as crowds 
of the townspeople. The king and the queen sat upon 
a beautiful throne exactly opposite the judge and all the 
councillors. 

The soldier mounted the ladder, but when they were 
about to put the rope round his neck, he said that before 
undergoing his punishment a criminal was always allowed 
the gratification of a harmless wish, and he wanted very 
much to smoke a pipe, as it would be his last pipe in this 
world. 


266 The Tinder Box 

The king would not deny him this, so the soldier took 
out his tinder box and struck fire, once, twice, three times, 
and there were all the dogs. The one with eyes like 
saucers, the one with eyes like millstones, and the one 
whose eyes were as big as the Round Tower. 

“ Help me ! Save me from being hanged ! ” cried the 
soldier. 

And then the dogs rushed at the soldiers and the 
councillors ; they took one by the legs, and another by the 
nose, and threw them up many fathoms into the air; and 
when they fell down, they were broken all to pieces. 

“ I won’t ! ” cried the king, but the biggest dog took both 
him and the queen and threw them after all the others. 
Then the soldiers became alarmed, and the people shouted, 
“Oh ! good soldier, you shall be our king and marry the 
beautiful princess ! ” 

Then they conducted the soldier to the king’s chariot, 
and all three dogs danced along in front of him and shouted 
“ Hurrah ! ” The boys all put their fingers in their mouths 
and whistled, and the soldiers presented arms. The prin- 
cess came out of the copper palace and became queen, 
which pleased her very much. The wedding took place in 
a wee k, and the dogs all had seats at the table, where they 
sat staring with all their eyes. 



The Story of a Mother 

A poor mother sat watching by the cradle of her little baby. 
She was very anxious and sorrowful; she dreaded that it 
was going to be taken from her. Its little eyes were closed, 
and it was deathly pale; it breathed very faintly, with now 
and then a long trembling breath like a sigh. The mother 
grew sadder and sadder as she looked at it. 

There was a knock at the door, and a poor old man came 
in ; he was wrapped in a big horse-cloth, which he needed 
to keep him warm, it was so very cold. Outside everything 
was covered with ice and snow, and a biting wind whistled 
round the house. 

As the old man was shaking with cold, and the baby 
had dropped asleep for a moment, the mother got up and 
put some beer in a little mug on the stove to warm for him. 
The old man sat rocking the cradle, and the woman sat 
down on a chair close to him and watched the sick child, 
who drew its breath more deeply still, and feebly waved its 
little hand about. 

“You think I shall keep him, don’t you?” said she. 
“The Lord won’t take him from me?” 

And the old man, who was Death himself, nodded in such 
a curious way that she did not know whether it meant yes 
or no. The mother bent her head, and the tears rolled 
down her cheeks. Her head was so heavy, she had not 
closed her eyes for three nights and days, and she fell asleep, 
but only for a moment, then she started up shivering 
with cold. 

“ What is it ? ” she said, looking about to every side. 
But the old man was gone, and her little child was gone ; 
he had taken it with him. The old clock in the corner 
whirred and whirred, and the big lead weight ran right down 
to the ground with a bang, and then the clock stopped too. 

But the poor mother rushed out of the house calling 
for her child. 


267 


268 The Story of a Mother 

Out there, all in the snow, sat a woman in long black 
clothes, and she said, “ Death has been into your room. 

I saw him hurrying away with your child ; he goes faster 
than the wind, and he never brings back what he takes 
away.” 

“ Only tell me which way he went,” said the mother. “ Tell 
me the way, and I shall find him.” 

“ I know the way,” said the woman in the black clothes ; 
“ but before I tell it you, you must sing me all the songs 
you used to sing to your baby ; I like them ; I have often 
heard them before. I am Night. I saw your tears while 
you sang.” 

“ I will sing them all — all,” said the mother ; “ but don’t 
stop me ; let me go that I may find my little baby.” 

But Night stood still and silent, and the mother wrung 
her hands, sang and wept. There were many songs, but 
many, many more tears. 

At last Night said, “Go to the right, into the dark pine 
wood. I saw Death take that road with your child.” 

In the heart of the wood she came to a cross-road, and 
she did not know which way to go. There was a black- 
thorn bush just at the crossing with neither leaf nor flower 
on it, for it was the hard winter time, and icicles hung from 
the branches. 

“ Have you not seen Death pass by with my little child?” 

“Yes,” said the blackthorn bush; “but I won’t tell you 
which way he went unless you will warm me at your heart. 
I am dying of cold ; I shall soon be nothing but ice.” 

And she pressed the blackthorn bush to her heart so 
tightly, to warm it, that the thorns ran into her flesh, and 
great drops of blood flowed; but fresh green leaves and 
flowers sprang out on the thorn bush that cold winter night, 
such was the warmth of a sad mother’s heart, and the thorn 
bush told her the way to go. 

Then she came to a great lake, on which there were 
neither ships nor boats. The lake was not frozen hard 
enough to bear her, nor was it open or shallow enough for 
her to wade through it ; but over it somehow she must go 
if she would find her child. She lay down to drink up the 
water, but that was of course impossible ; the poor mother 
thought, however, that a miracle might happen. 

“Now, this will never do !” said the lake. “Let us see 
if we two can’t make a bargain ! I collect pearls, and your 


The Story of a Mother 269 

eyes are the brightest I have seen ; if you will cry them out 
for me, I will carry you over to the great hot-house where 
Death lives and looks after his plants and flowers, every one 
of which is a human life.” 

“Oh, what would I not give to reach my child !” said the 
weeping mother, and she wept more than ever, till her eyes 
dropped down to the bottom of the lake and became two 
precious pearls. Then the lake lifted her as if she had been 
in a swing, and she was borne in a moment from the shore 
where she stood to the other side. Here stood a curious 
house a mile wide ; one could hardly tell whether it was a 
mountain covered with woods and hollows, or whether it 
was built up ; but the poor mother could not see it, you 
know, for she had cried her eyes out. 

“Where shall I find Death, who carried off my little 
child ?” she said. 

“He has not come back here yet,” said the old crone, 
whose business it was to tend Death’s big hot-house. 
“However did you get here, and who helped you?” 

“ Our Lord has helped me,” said she. “ He is merciful, 
and so will you be. Where shall I find my child?” 

“ I don’t know,” said the woman, “ and you can’t see. 
Many flowers and trees have withered in the night; Death 
will soon come and transplant them. You know that every 
human being has his or her tree of life, or flower, according 
as they are made ; they look like other plants, but they 
have beating human hearts. A child’s heart can beat too. 
Walk about here, perhaps you will recognise your child’s ; 
but what will you give me if I tell you what more you must 
do?” 

“I have nothing to give,” said the mother sadly, “but 
I will go to the end of the world for you.” 

“I’ve got nothing to do there,” said the woman; “but 
you can give me your long black hair; I’m sure you know 
yourself that it is beautiful, and I fancy it. I’ll give you my 
white hair in place of it, that will always be something.” 

“ Don’t you ask more than that,” said she ; “ I will give 
it you gladly,” and she gave her her beautiful black hair and 
received the old woman’s white hajr in exchange. 

Then they went into Death’s big hot-house, where the 
flowers and trees grew curiously mixed up together. Here 
were delicate hyacinths under bell glasses, and there were 
great strong peonies; here were water plants, some quite 


270 The Story of a Mother 

fresh, others sickly with water snakes wound round them, 
and little black cray fish pinching their stems. Here were 
beautiful palm trees, oaks and plane trees; there grew 
parsley and sweet scented thyme; every tree and every 
flower had its name. Each one was a human life, living 
still, one in China, one in Greenland, scattered round about 
the world. There were big trees in small pots, growing in 
a stunted way, ready to burst their pots ; and there were 
also, in other places, little tiresome flowers in rich earth 
surrounded with moss, and covered and tended. But the 
sad mother bent over all the tiniest plants and listened for 
the human heart beating in them. Among a million she 
knew her child’s at once. 

“ This is it ! ” she cried, stretching out her hands over a 
little blue crocus which hung feebly down to one side. 

“ Don’t touch the flower,” said the old woman, “ but place 
yourself here, so that when Death comes (for I expect him 
every minute) you may prevent him from pulling it up; 
threaten him that you will do the same to the other flowers, 
then he will be frightened. He has to answer to our Lord 
for them, not one may be pulled up without His leave.” 

All at once an icy wind whistled through the place, and 
the blind mother felt that Death had come. 

“ How didst thou find thy way hither ? ” asked he. “ How 
couldst thou get here before me ? ” 

“lama mother,” she said. 

Then Death stretched out his long hand towards the 
delicate little flower, but she clasped her hands tightly 
round his, in terror lest he should touch one of the leaves. 
Death breathed upon her hands; she felt that his breath 
was colder than the coldest wind, and her hands fell numbly 
away from his. 

“You have no power against me, you see,” said Death. 

“ But our Lord has ! ” said she. 

“ I only do His will,” said Death. “ I am His gardener! 
I take all His flowers and trees and plant them in the 
Garden of Paradise, in the Unknown Land ; but how they 
grow, and what they do there, I dare not tell thee ! ” 

“Give me back my child!” said the mother, with tears 
and prayers; suddenly she clutched with both hands two 
beautiful flowers growing close by, and called out to Death, 
“ I will pull up all your flowers, for I am in despair ! ” 

“Touch them not!” said Death. “Thou sayst that 


The Story of a Mother 271 

thou art unhappy, yet wouldst thou make some other mother 
equally unhappy S ” 

“ Some other mother ! ” said the poor woman, letting go 
the flowers at once. 

“Here hast thou thine eyes back again,” said Death; “ I 
fished them up out of the lake, they shone so brightly; I 
did not know that they were thine. Take them back again, 
they are brighter than ever. Look down into the deep well 
close by, I will name the names of those flowers thou wast 
about to pluck, and thou shalt see their whole lives, and all 
that future thou wast about to destroy.” 

And she looked down into the well ; it was happiness to 
see how one of them became a blessing to the world, and to 
see how much joy and pleasure was unfolded around him. 
Then she saw the life of the other, and that life was all 
sorrow and need, sin and misery. 

“ Both lives are according to the will of God ! ” said 
Death. 

“Which of them is the flower of misery and which of 
blessedness ? ” 

“ That I may not tell thee,” said Death ; “ but I may tell 
thee that one of the flowers was thy own child’s ; it was thy 
child’s fate thou sawest, thine own child’s future.” 

Then the mother shrieked in terror. “ Which was my 
child ? tell me that 1 Save the wretched one ! Save my child 
from all the misery ! Rather carry it away ! bear it into 
God’s kingdom ! Forget my tears, forget my prayers, and 
all that I have said and done ! ” 

“ I do not understand thee ! ” said Death ; “ wilt thou 
have thy child back, or shall I take it whither thou knowest 
not ! ” 

The mother wrung her hands, fell upon her knees, and 
prayed to Our Father, “Do not listen to me when I pray 
against Thy will, which is best ; do not listen, do not listen ! ” 
And she bent her head in humble submission. 

Then Death carried ner child into the Unknown Land. 



The Marsh King’s Daughter 

The storks have a great many stories, which they tell their 
little ones, all about the bogs and the marshes. They suit 
them to their ages and capacity. The youngest ones are quite 
satisfied with “ Kribble krabble,” or some such nonsense ; 
but the older ones want something with more meaning in it, 
or at any rate something about the family. We all know one 
of the two oldest and longest tales which have been kept up 
among the storks ; the one about Moses, who was placed by 
his mother on the waters of the Nile, and found there by 
the king’s daughter. How she brought him up and how he 
became a great man whose burial place nobody to this day 
knows. This is all common knowledge. 

The other story is not known yet, because the storks have 
kept it among themselves. It has been handed on from one 
mother stork to another for more than a thousand years, and 
each succeeding mother has told it better and better, till we 
now tell it best of all. 

The first pair of storks who told it, and who actually 
lived it, had their summer quarters on the roof of the 
Viking’s timbered house up by “Vidmosen” (the Wild Bog) 
in Wendsyssel. It is in the county of Hiorring, high up 
towards the Skaw, in the north of Jutland, if we are to 
describe it according to the authorities. There is still a 
great bog there, which we may read about in the county 
chronicles. This district used to be under the sea at one time 
but the ground has risen, and it stretches for miles. It is 
surrounded on every side by marshy meadows, quagmires, 
and peat bogs, on which grow cloud berries and stunted 
bushes. There is nearly always a damp mist hanging over 
it, and seventy years ago it was still overrun with wolves. 
It may well be called the Wild Bog, and one can easily 
272 



The Marsh King’s Daughter 273 

imagine how desolate and dreary it was among all these 
swamps and pools a thousand years ago. In detail every- 
thing is much the same now as it was then. The reeds 
grow to the same height, and have the same kind of long 
purple-brown leaves with feathery tips as now. The birch still 
grows there with its white bark and its delicate loosely-hang- 
ing leaves. With regard to living creatures, the flies still 
wear their gauzy draperies of the same cut ; ana the storks 
now, as then, still dress in black and white, with long red 
stockings. The people certainly then had a very different 
cut for their clothes than at the present day ; but if any of 
them, serf or huntsman, or anybody at all, stepped on the 
quagmires, the same fate befell him a thousand years ago as 
would overtake him now if he ventured on them, — in he 
would go, and down he would sink to the Marsh King, as 
they call him. He rules down below over the whole kingdom 
of bogs and swamps. He might also be called King of the 
Quagmires, but we prefer to call him the Marsh King, as the 
storks did. We know very little about his rule, but that is 
perhaps just as well. 

Near the bogs, close to the arm of the Cattegat, called the 
Limfiord, lay the timbered hall of the Vikings with its stone 
cellar, its tower and its three storeys. The storks had built 
their nest on the top of the roof, and the mother stork was 
sitting on the eggs which she was quite sure would soon be 
successfully hatched. 

One evening Father stork stayed out rather late, and 
when he came back he looked somewhat ruffled. 

“ I have something terrible to tell you ! ” he said to the 
mother stork. 

“ Don’t tell it to me then,” she answered ; “ remember that 
I am sitting, it might upset me and that would be bad for 
the eggs ! ” 

“ You will have to know it,” said he ; “ she has come here, 
the daughter of our host in Egypt. She has ventured to take 
the journey, and now she has disappeared.” 

“She who is related to the fairies! Tell me all about 
it. You know I can’t bear to be kept waiting now I am 
sitting.” 

“ Look here, mother ! She must have believed what the 
doctor said as you told me; she believed that the marsh 
flowers up here would do something for her father, and she 
flew over here in feather plumage with the other two Prin- 


274 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

cesses, who have to come north every year to take the baths 
to make themselves young. She came, and she has 
vanished.” 

“ You go into too many particulars,” said the mother 
stork ; “ the eggs might get a chill, and I can’t stand being 
kept in suspense.” 

“ I have been on the outlook,” said Father stork, “ and to- 
night when I was among the reeds where the quagmire will 
hardly bear me, I saw three swans flying along, and there 
was something about their flight which said to me, ‘watch 
them, they are not real swans ! They are only in swan’s 
plumage.’ You know, mother, as well as I, that one feels 
things intuitively, whether or not they are what they seem 
to be.” 

“ Yes, indeed ! ” she said, “ but tell me about the Princess, 
I am quite tired of hearing about swan’s plumage.” 

“You know that in the middle of the bog there is a kind 
of lake,” said Father stork. “ You can see a bit of it if you 
raise your head. Well there was a big alder stump between 
the bushes and the quagmire, and on this the three swans 
settled, flapping their wings and looking about them. Then 
one of them threw off the swan’s plumage, and I at once re- 
cognised in her our Princess from Egypt. There she sat 
with no covering but her long black hair ; I heard her beg 
the two others to take good care of the swan’s plumage while 
she dived under the water to pick up the marsh flower which 
she thought she could see. They nodded and raised their 
heads, and lifted up the loose plumage. What are they going 
to do with it, thought I, and she no doubt asked them the 
same thing ; and the answer came, she had ocular demonstra- 
tion of it : they flew up into the air with the feather garment ! 
‘Just you duck down,’ they cried. ‘Never again will you 
fly about in the guise of a swan ; never more will you see the 
land of Egypt; you may sit in your swamp.’ Then they 
tore the feather garment into a hundred bits, scattering the 
feathers all over the place, like a snowstorm ; then away flew 
those two good-for-nothing Princesses.” 

“ What a terrible thing,” said Mother stork ; “ but I must 
have the end of it.” 

“The Princess moaned and wept! Her tears trickled 
down upon the alder stump, and then it began to move, for 
it was the Marsh King himself, who lives in the bog. 1 
saw the stump turn round, and saw that it was no longer a 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 275 

stump ; it stretched out long miry branches like arms. The 
poor child was terrified, and she sprang away on to the 
shaking quagmire where it would not even bear my weight, 
far less hers. She sank at once and the alder stump after 
her, it was dragging her down. Great black bubbles rose in 
the slime, and then there was nothing more to be seen. Now 
she is buried in the Wild Bog and never will she take back 
the flowers she came for to Egypt. You could not have 
endured the sight, mother ! ” 

“ You shouldn’t even tell me anything of the sort just now, 
it might have a bad effect upon the eggs. The Princess 
must look after herself 1 She will get help somehow ; if it had 
been you or I now, or one of our sort, all would have been 
over with us ! ” 

“ I mean to keep a watch though, every day,” said the 
stork, and he kept his word. 

But a long time passed, and then one day he saw that a 
green stem shot up from the fathomless depths, and when it 
reached the surface of the water, a leaf appeared at the top 
which grew broader and broader. Next a bud appeared 
close by it and one morning at dawn, just as the stork was 
passing, the bud opened out in the warm rays of the sun, and 
in the middle of it lay a lovely baby, a little girl, looking just 
as fresh as if she had just come out of a bath. She was so 
exactly like the Princess from Egypt that at first the stork 
thought it was she who had grown small ; but when he put 
two and two together, he came to the conclusion that it was 
her child and the Marsh King’s. This explained why she 
appeared in a water lily. “She can’t stay there very long,” 
thought the stork; “and there are too many of us in my 
nest as it is, but an idea has just come into my head ! The 
Viking’s wife has no child, and she has often wished for one. 
As I am always said to bring the babies, this time I will do 
so in earnest. I will fly away to the Viking’s wife with the 
baby, and that will indeed be a joy for her.” 

So the stork took up the little girl and flew away with her 
to the timbered house where he picked a hole in the bladder 
skin which covered the window, and laid the baby in the 
arms of the Viking’s wife. This done he flew home and told 
the mother stork all about it; and the young ones heard 
what he said, they were old enough to understand it. 

“ So you see that the Princess is not dead ; she must have 
sent the baby up here and I have found a home for her,” 


276 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

“ I said so from the very first,” said Mother stork ; “ now 
just give a little attention to your own children, it is almost 
time to start on our own journey. I feel a tingling in my 
wings every now and then ! The cuckoo and the nightin- 
gale are already gone, and I hear from the quails that we 
shall soon have a good wind. Our young people will do 
themselves credit at the manoeuvres if I know them aright ! ” 

How delighted the Viking’s wife was when she woke in 
the morning and found the little baby on her bosom. She 
kissed and caressed it ; but it screamed and kicked terribly, 
and seemed anything but happy. At last it cried itself to 
sleep, and as it lay there a prettier little thing could not 
have been seen. The Viking’s wife was delighted, body 
and soul were filled with joy. She was sure that now her 
husband and all his men would soon come back as un- 
expectedly as the baby had come. So she and her house- 
hold busied themselves in putting the house in order 
against their return. The long coloured tapestries which 
she and her handmaids had woven with pictures of their 
gods — Odin, Thor and Freya as they were called — were 
hung up. The serfs had to scour and polish the old shields 
which hung round the walls; cushions were laid on the 
benches, and logs upon the great hearth in the middle of 
the hall, so that the fire might be lighted at once. The 
Viking’s wife helped with all this work herself so that when 
evening came she was very tired and slept soundly. When 
she woke towards morning she was much alarmed at finding 
that the little baby had disappeared. She sprang up and 
lighted a pine chip and looked about. There was no baby, 
but at the foot of the bed sat a hideous toad. She was 
horrified at the sight, and seized up a heavy stick to kill it, 
but it looked at her with such curious sad eyes, that she 
had not the heart to strike it. Once more she looked round 
and the toad gave a faint pitiful croak which made her 
start. She jumped out of bed and threw open the window 
shutter, the sun was just rising and its beams fell upon the 
bed and the great toad. All at once the monster’s wide 
mouth seemed to contract, and to become small and rosy, the 
limbs stretched and again took their lovely shapes, and it 
was her own dear little baby which lay there, and not a 
hideous frog. 

“Whatever is this?” she cried; “I have had a bad 
dream. This is my own darling elfin child.” She kissed it 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 277 

and pressed it to her heart, but it struggled and bit like a 
wild kitten. 

Neither that day nor the next did the Viking lord come 
home although he was on his way, but the winds were 
against him ; they were blowing southwards for the storks. 
“ It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.” 

In the course of a few days and nights it became clear to 
the Viking’s wife how matters stood with her little baby; 
some magic power had a terrible hold over her. In the 
day time it was as beautiful as any fairy, but it had a bad, 
wicked temper; at night on the other hand she became a 
hideous toad, quiet and pathetic with sad mournful eyes. 
There were two natures in her both in soul and body con- 
tinually shifting. The reason of it was that the little girl 
brought by the frog, by day had her mother’s form and her 
father’s evil nature ; but at night her kinship with him 
appeared in her outward form, and her mother’s sweet 
nature and gentle spirit beamed out of the misshapen 
monster. Who could release her from the power of this 
witchcraft? It caused the Viking’s wife much grief and 
trouble, and yet her heart yearned over the unfortunate 
being. She knew that she would never dare to tell her 
husband the true state of affairs, because he would without 
doubt, according to custom, have the poor child exposed on 
the highway for anyone who chose to look after it. The 
good woman had not the heart to do this, and so she 
determined that he should only see the child by broad 
daylight. 

One morning there was a sound of stork’s wings swishing 
over the roof ; during the night more than a hundred pairs 
of storks had made it their resting-place, after the great 
manoeuvres, and they were now trying their wings before 
starting on their long southward flight. 

“ Every man ready ! ” they cried ; “ all the wives and 
children too.” 

“ How light we feel,” cried the young storks; “our legs 
tingle as if we were full of live frogs ! How splendid it is 
to be travelling to foreign lands.” 

“ Keep in line ! ” said father and mother, “ and don’t 
let your beaks clatter so fast, it isn’t good for the chest.” 
Then away they flew. 

At the very same moment a horn sounded over the heath. 
The Viking had landed with all his men ; they were 


278 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

bringing home no end of rich booty from the Gallic coast, 
where the people cried in their terror as did the people ol 
Britain : 

“Deliver us from the wild Northmen !” 

What life and noise came to the Viking’s home by the 
Wild Bog now. The mead cask was brought into the hall, 
the great fire lighted, and horses slaughtered for the feast, 
which was to be an uproarious one. The priest sprinkled 
the thralls with the warm blood of the horses as a conse- 
cration. The fire crackled and roared, driving the smoke 
up under the roof, and the soot dripped down from the 
beams ; but they were used to all that. Guests were 
invited and they received handsome presents. All feuds 
and double dealing were forgotten. They drank deeply, 
and threw the knuckle-bones in each other’s faces when 
they had gnawed them, but that was a mark of good feeling. 
The Skald — the minstrel of the times, but he was also a 
warrior, for he went with them on their expeditions, and he 
knew what he was singing about — gave them one of his 
ballads recounting all their warlike deeds and their prowess. 
After every verse came the same refrain : “ Fortunes may be 
lost, friends may die, one dies oneself, but a glorious name 
never dies ! ” Then they banged on the shields, and 
hammered with knives or the knuckle-bones on the table 
before them, till the hall rang. 

The Viking’s wife sat on the cross bench in the banquet- 
ing hall. She was dressed in silk with gold bracelets and 
large amber beads. The Skald brought her name into the 
song too ; he spoke of the golden treasure she had brought 
to her wealthy husband, and his delight at the beautiful 
child which at present he had only seen under its charming 
daylight guise. He rather admired her passionate nature, 
and said she would grow into a doughty shield maiden or 
Valkyrie, able to hold her own in battle. She would be of 
the kind who would not blink if a practised hand cut off 
her eyebrows in jest with a sharp sword. The barrel of 
mead came to an end, and a new one was rolled up in 
its place; this one too was soon drained to the dregs, 
but they were a hard headed people who could stand a 
great deal. They had a proverb then, “ the beast knows 
when it is time to go home from grass, but the fool never 
knows when he has had enough.” They knew it very well, 
but people often know one thing and yet do another. They 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 279 

also knew that “the dearest friend becomes a bore if he sits 
too long in one’s house ! ” but yet they sat on. Meat and 
drink are such good things ! They were a jovial company ! 
At night the thralls slept among the warm ashes, and they 
dipped their fingers in the sooty grease and licked them. 
Those were rare times indeed. 

The Viking went out once more that year on a raid 
although the autumn winds were beginning ; he sailed with 
his men to the coast of Britain, “ it was just over the 
water,” he said. His wife remained at home with the little 
girl, and certain it was that the foster-mother soon grew 
fonder of the poor toad with the pathetic eyes, and 
plaintive sighs, than she was of the little beauty who tore 
and bit. 

The raw, wet autumn fog “gnaw-worn” which gnaws the 
leaves off the trees, lay over wood and heath ; and “ Bird 
loose-feather,” as they call the snow, followed closely upon 
each other. Winter was on its way. The sparrows took the 
storks’ nest under their protection, and discussed the absent 
owners in their own fashion. The stork couple and their 
young — where were they now ? 

The storks were in the land of Egypt under such a sun as 
we have on a warm summer’s day ! They were surrounded 
by flowering tamarinds and acacias. Mahomet’s crescent 
glittered from every cupola on the mosques, and many a pair 
of storks stood on the slender towers resting after their long 
journey. Whole flocks of them had their nests side by side 
on the mighty pillars, or the ruined arches of the deserted 
temples. The date palm lifted high its screen of branches as 
if to form a sunshade. The greyish white pyramids stood 
like shadowy sketches against the clear atmosphere of the 
desert where the ostrich knew it would find space for its 
stride. The lion crouched gazing with its great wise eyes 
at the marble Sphinx half buried in the sand. The Nile 
waters had receded and the land teemed with frogs; to the 
storks this was the most splendid sight in all the land. The 
eyes of the young ones were quite dazzled with the sight. 

“ See what it is to be here, and w r e always have the same 
in our warm country,” said the mother stork, and the 
stomachs of the little ones tingled. 

“ Is there anything more to see ? ” they asked ; “ shall we 
go any further inland ? ” 

“There is not much more to see,” said the mother stork.. 

T 


280 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

“ On the fertile side there are only secluded woods where the 
trees are interlaced by creeping plants. The elephant, with 
its strong clumsy legs, is the only creature which can force a 
way through. The snakes there are too big for us, and the 
lizards are too nimble. If you go out into the desert you 
will get sand in your eyes if the weather is good, and if it is 
bad you may be buried in a sandstorm. No, we are best 
here ; there are plenty of frogs and grasshoppers. Here I 
stay and you too ! ” And so she stayed. 

The old ones stayed in their nests on the slender minarets 
resting themselves, but at the same time busily smoothing 
their feathers and rubbing their beaks upon their red stock- 
ings. Or they would lift up their long necks and gravely 
bow their heads, their brown eyes beaming wisely. The 
young stork misses walked about gravely among the juicy 
reeds, casting glances at the young bachelor storks, or making 
acquaintance with them ; they would swallow a frog at every 
third step, or walk about with a small snake dangling from 
their beak, it had such a good effect they thought, and then 
it tasted so good. The young he-storks engaged in many a 
petty quarrel, in which they flapped their wings furiously and 
stabbed each other with their beaks till the blood came. 
Then they took mates and built nests for themselves ; it was 
what they lived for. New quarrels soon arose, for in these 
warm countries people are terribly passionate. All the same 
it was very pleasant to the old ones, nothing could be wrong 
that their young ones did. There was sunshine every day, 
and plenty to eat ; nothing to think of but pleasure ! 

But in the great palace of their Egyptian host, as they 
called him, matters were not so pleasant. The rich and 
mighty lord lay stretched upon his couch, as stiff in every 
limb as if he had been a mummy. The great painted hall 
was as gorgeous as if he had been lying within a tulip. 
Relatives and friends stood around him — he was not dead — 
yet he could hardly be called living. The healing marsh 
flower from the northern lands, which was to be found and 
plucked by the one who loved him best, would never be 
brought. His young and lovely daughter, who in the plumage 
of a swan had flown over sea and land to the far north, would 
never return. The two other swan Princesses had came back 
and this is the tale they told : 

“ We were all flying high up in the air when a huntsman 
saw us and shot his arrow ; it pierced our young friend to 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 281 

the heart and she slowly sank. As she sank she sang her 
farewell song and fell into the midst of a forest pool. There 
by the shore under a drooping birch we buried her ; but we 
had our revenge ; we bound fire under the wings of a swallow 
which had its nest under the eaves of his cottage. The roof 
took fire and the cottage blazed up and he was burnt in it. 
The flames shone on the pool where she lay, earth of the 
earth, under the birch. Never more will she come back to 
the land of Egypt.” 

Then they both wept, and the father stork who heard it 
clattered with his beak and said, “ pack of lies ; I should like 
to drive my beak right into their breasts ! ” 

“ Where it would break off, and a nice sight you would be 
then,” said the mother stork. “ Think of yourself first and 
then of your family, everything else comes second to that ! ” 

“ I will perch upon the open cupola to-morrow when all 
the wise and learned folk assemble to talk about the sick 
man, perhaps they will get a little nearer to the truth ! ” 

The sages met together and talked long and learnedly, 
but the stork could neither make head nor tail of it. Nothing 
came of it, however, either for the sick man or for his 
daughter who was buried in the Wild Bog ; but we may just 
as well hear what they said and we may, perhaps, understand 
the story better, or at least as well as the stork. 

“ Love is the food of life ! The highest love nourishes 
the highest life ! Only through love can this life be won 
back ! ” This had been said and well said, declared the sages. 

“ It is a beautiful idea ! ” said Father stork at once. 

“ I don’t rightly understand it,” said the mother stork ; 
“ however that is not my fault, but the fault of the idea. It 
really does not matter to me though, I have other things to 
think about ! ” 

The sages had talked a great deal about love, the differ- 
ence between the love of lovers, and that of parent and child, 
light and vegetation and how the sunbeams kissed the mire 
and forthwith young shoots sprang into being. The whole 
discourse was so learned that the father stork could not take 
it in, far less repeat it. He became quite pensive and stood 
on one leg for a whole day with his eyes half shut. Learning 
was a heavy burden to him. 

Yet one thing the stork had thoroughly comprehended ; 
he had heard from high and low alike what a misfortune it 
was to thousands of people and to the whole country, that 


282 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

this man should be lying sick without hope of recovery. It 
would indeed be a blessed day which should see his health 
restored. “But where blossoms the flower of healing for 
him?” they had asked of one another, and they had also 
consulted all their learned writings, the twinkling stars, the 
winds and the waves. The only answer that the sages had 
been able to give was, “ Love is the food of life ! ” but how 
to apply the saying they knew not. At last all were agreed 
that succour must come through the Princess who loved her 
father with her whole heart and soul. And they at last 
decided what she was to do. It was more than a year and 
a day since they had sent her at night, when there was a 
new moon, out into the desert to the Sphinx. Here she had 
to push away the sand from the door at the base of it, and 
walk through the long passage which led right into the 
middle of the pyramid, where one of the mightiest of their 
ancient kings lay swathed in his mummy’s bands in the 
midst of his wealth and glory. Here she was to bend her 
head to the corpse, and it would be revealed to her where 
she would find healing and salvation for her father. 

All this she had done, and the exact spot had been shown 
her in dreams where in the depths of the morass she would 
find the lotus flower that would touch her bosom beneath 
the water. And this she was to bring home. So she flew 
away in her swan’s plumage to the Wild Bog in the far north. 

Now all this the father and mother stork had known from 
the beginning, and we understand the matter better than we 
did. We know that the Marsh King dragged her down to 
himself, and that to those at home she was dead and gone. 
The wisest of them said like the mother stork, “she will 
look out for herself!” so they awaited her return, not know- 
ing in fact what else to do. 

“ I think I will snatch away the swans’ plumage from the 
two deceitful Princesses,” said the. father stork. “ Then they 
could not go to the Wild Bog to do any more mischief. I 
will keep the plumages up there till we find a use for them.” 

“ Up where will you keep them ? ” asked the mother stork. 

“In our nest at the Wild Bog,” said he. “The young 
ones and I can carry them between us, and if they are too 
cumbersome, there are places enough on the way where we 
can hide them till our next flight. One plumage would be 
enough for her, but two are better ; it is a good plan to have 
plenty of wraps in a northern country ! ” 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 283 

“ You will get no thanks for it,” said the mother stork ; 
but you are the master. I have nothing to say except when 
I am sitting.” 

In the meantime the little child in the Viking’s hall by 
the Wild Bog, whither the storks flew in the spring, had had 
a name given her : it was Helga, but such a name was far 
too gentle for such a wild spirit as dwelt within her. Month 
by month it showed itself more, and year by year whilst the 
storks took the same journey, in autumn towards the Nile, 
and in spring towards the Wild Bog. The little child grew 
to be a big girl, and before one knew how, she was the 
loveliest maiden possible of sixteen. The husk was lovely, 
but the kernel was hard and rough ; wilder than most, even 
in those hard, wild times. 

Her greatest pleasure was to dabble her white hands in 
the blood of the horses slaughtered for sacrifice; in her 
wild freaks she would bite the heads off the black cocks 
which the priest was about to slay, and she said in full 
earnest to her foster father, “ If thy foe were to come and 
throw a rope round the beams of thy house and pull it about 
thine ears, I would not wake thee if I could. I should not 
hear him for the tingling of the blood in the ear thou once 
boxed years ago ! I do not forget ! ” 

But the Viking did not believe what she said. He, like 
everybody else, was infatuated by her beauty, nor did he 
know how body and soul changed places in his little Helga 
in the dark hours of the night. She rode a horse bare- 
backed as if she were a part of it, nor did she jump off while 
her steed bit and fought with the other wild horses. She 
would often throw herself from the cliff into the sea in all 
her clothes, and swim out to meet the Viking when his boat 
neared the shore ; and she cut off the longest strand of her 
beautiful long hair to string her bow. “ Self made is well 
made,” said she. 

The Viking’s wife, though strong-willed and strong-minded 
after the fashion of the times, became towards her daughter 
like any other weak anxious mother, because she knew that 
a spell rested over the terrible child. Often when her mother 
stepped out on to the balcony Helga, from pure love of 
teasing it seemed, would sit down upon the edge of the well, 
throw up her hands and feet, and go backwards plump into 
the dark narrow hole. Here with her frog’s nature she would 
rise again and clamber out like a cat dripping with water, 


284 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

carrying a perfect stream into the banqueting hall, washing 
aside the green twigs strewn on the floor. 

One bond, however, always held little Helga in check, 
and that was twilight ; when it drew near, she became quiet 
and pensive, allowing herself to be called and directed. An 
inner perception as it were drew her towards her mother, 
and when the sun sank and the transformation took place, 
she sat sad and quiet, shrivelled up into the form of a toad. 
Her body was now much bigger than those creatures ever are, 
but for that reason all the more unsightly. She looked like 
a wretched dwarf with the head of a frog and webbed fingers. 
There was something so piteous in her eyes ; and voice she 
had none, only a hollow croak like the smothered sobs of 
a dreaming child. Then the Viking’s wife would take it on 
her knee, and looking into its eyes would forget the mis- 
shapen form, and would often say, “ I could almost wish 
that thou wouldst always remain my dumb frog child. 
Thou art more terrible to look at when thou art clothed in 
beauty.” Then she would write Runes against sickness and 
sorcery, and throw them over the miserable girl, but they 
did no good at all. 

“ One would never think that she had been small enough 
to lie in a water lily ! ” said the father stork. “ Now she is 
grown up, and the very image of her Egyptian mother, whom 
we never saw again ! She did not manage to take such 
good care of herself as you and the sages said she would. 
I have been flying across the marsh year in, year out, and 
never have I seen a trace of her. Yes, I may as well tell 
you that all these years when I have come on in advance of 
you to look after the nest and set it to rights, I have spent 
many a night flying about like an owl or a bat scanning the 
open water, but all to no purpose. Nor have we had any 
use for the two swan plumages which the young ones and I 
dragged up here with so much difficulty ; it took us three 
journeys to get them here. They have lain for years in the 
bottom of the nest, and if ever a disaster happens, such as a 
fire in the timbered house, they will be entirely lost.” 

“ And our good nest would be lost too,” said the mother 
stork; “but you think less of that than you do of your 
feather dresses, and your marsh Princess. You had better 
go down to her one day and stay in the mire for good. You 
are a bad father to your own chicks and I have always said 
so since the first time I hatched a brood. If only we or the 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 285 

young ones don’t get an arrow through our wings from that 
mad Viking girl. She doesn’t know what she is about. 
We are rather more at home here than she is, and she ought 
to remember that. We never forget our obligations. Every 
year we pay our toll of a feather, an egg, and a young one, 
as it is only right we should. Do you think that while she 
is about I care to go down there as I used to do, and as I 
do in Egypt when 1 am ‘ hail fellow well met’ with everybody, 
and where I peep into their pots and kettles if I like? No, 
indeed ; I sit up here vexing myself about her, the vixen, 
and you too. You should have left her in the water lily, 
and there would have been an end of her.” 

“ You are much more estimable than your words,” said 
the father stork. “ I know you better than you know your- 
self, my dear.” Then he gave a hop and flapped his wings 
thrice, proudly stretched out his neck and soared away 
without moving his outspread wings. When he had gone 
some distance he made some more powerful strokes, his 
head and neck bending proudly forward, while his plumage 
gleamed in the sunshine. What strength and speed there 
were in his flight. 

“ He is the handsomest of them all yet,” said the mother 
stork ; “ but I don’t tell him that.” 

The Viking came home early that autumn with his booty 
and prisoners ; among these was a young Christian priest, 
one of those men who persecuted the heathen gods of the 
north. There had often been discussions of late, both in the 
hall and in the women’s bower, about the new faith which was 
spreading in all the countries to the south. Through the 
holy Ansgarius it had spread as far as Hedeby on the Schlei. 
Even little Helga had heard of the belief in the “ White 
Christ,” who from love to man had given Himself for their 
salvation. As far as Helga was concerned it had all gone 
in at one ear and out at the other, as one says. The very 
meaning of the word “ love ” only seemed to dawn upon 
her when she was shrivelled up into the form of a frog in 
her secret chamber, but the Viking’s wife had listened to the 
story and had felt herself strangely moved by these tales 
about the Son of the only true God. 

The men on their return from their raids told them all 
about the temples built of costly polished stone, which were 
raised to Him whose message was Love. Once a couple of 
heavy golden vessels of cunning workmanship were brought 


286 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

home about which hung a peculiar spicy odour. They were 
censers used by the Christian priests to swing before the 
altars on which blood never flowed, but where the bread and 
wine were changed to the Body and Blood of Him who 
gave Himself for the yet unborn generations. 

The young priest was imprisoned in the deep stone 
cellars of the timber house and his feet and hands were 
bound with strips of bark. He was as “beautiful as 
Baldur,” said the Viking’s wife, and she felt pity for him, 
but young Helga proposed that he should be hamstrung and 
be tied to the tails of wild oxen. 

“Then would I let the dogs loose on him. Hie and 
away over marshes and pools ; that would be a merry sight, 
and merrier still would it be to follow in his course.” 

However, this was not the death the Viking wished him 
to die, but rather that as a denier and a persecutor of the 
great gods, he should be offered up in the morning upon 
the bloodstone in the groves. For the first time a man was 
to be sacrificed here. Young Helga begged that she might ' 
sprinkle the effigies of the gods and the people with his 
blood. She polished her sharp knife, and when one of the 
great ferocious dogs, of which there were so many about the 
place, sprang towards her, she dug her knife into its side, 

“ to try it,” she said ; but the Viking’s wife looked sadly at 
the wild, badly-disposed girl. When the night came and the 
girl’s beauty of body and soul changed places, she spoke 
tender words of grief from her sorrowful heart. The ugly 
toad with its ungainly body stood fixing its sad brown eyes 
upon her, listening and seeming to understand with the mind 
of a human being. 

“ Never once to my husband has a word of my double 
grief through you passed my lips,” said the Viking’s wife. 

“ My heart is full of grief for you, great is a mother’s love ! 
But love never entered your heart, it is like a lump of cold 
clay. How ever did you get into my house ? ” 

Then the ungainly creature trembled, as if the words 
touched some invisible chord between body and soul, and 
great tears came into its eyes. 

“ A bitter time will come to you,” said the Viking’s wife, 

“ and it will be a terrible one to me too ! Better would it 
have been, if as a child you had been exposed on the high- 
way, and lulled by the cold to the sleep of death ! ” And 
the Viking’s wife shed bitter tears, and went away in anger 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 287 

and sorrow, passing under the curtain of skins which hung 
from the beams and divided the hall. 

The shrivelled up toad crouched in the corner, and a 
dead silence reigned. At intervals a half stifled sigh rose 
within her ; it was as if in anguish something came to life in 
her heart. She took a step forward and listened, then she 
stepped forward again and grasped the heavy bar of the 
door with her clumsy hands. Softly she drew it back, and 
silently lifted the latch, then she took up the lamp which 
stood in the ante-room. It seemed as if a strong power 
gave her strength. She drew out the iron bolt from the 
barred cellar door, and slipped in to the prisoner. He was 
asleep, she touched him with her cold clammy hand, and 
when he woke and saw the hideous creature, he shuddered 
as if he beheld an evil apparition. She drew out her knife 
and cut his bonds asunder, and then beckoned him to 
follow her. He named the Holy Name and made the sign of 
the cross, and as the form remained unchanged, he repeated 
the words of the Psalmist : “ Blessed is the man who hath pity 
on the poor and needy ; the Lord will deliver him in the 
time of trouble!” Then he asked “Who art thou? whose 
outward appearance is that of an animal, whilst thou 
willingly performest deeds of mercy ?” 

The toad only beckoned him and led him behind the 
sheltering curtains down a long passage to the stable, 
pointed to a horse, on to which he sprang and she after him. 
She sat in front of him clutching the mane of the animal. 
The prisoner understood her and they rode at a quick pace 
along a path he never would have found to the heath. He 
forgot her hideous form, knowing that the mercy of the 
Lord worked through the spirits of darkness. He prayed 
and sang holy songs which made her tremble. Was it the 
power of prayer and his singing working upon her, or was it 
the chill air of the advancing dawn? What were her 
feelings? She raised herself and wanted to stop and jump 
off the horse, but the Christian priest held her tightly, with 
all his strength, and sang aloud a psalm as if this could lift 
the spell which held her. 

The horse bounded on more wildly than before, the sky 
grew red, and the first sunbeams pierced the clouds. As 
the stream of light touched her, the transformation took 
place. She was once more a lovely maiden but her 
demoniac spirit was the same. The priest held a blooming 


288 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

maiden in his arms and he was terrified at the sight. He 
stopped the horse and sprang down, thinking he had met 
with a new device of the evil one. But young Helga 
sprang to the ground too. The short child’s frock only 
reached to her knee. She tore the sharp knife from her 
belt and rushed upon the startled man. “ Let me get at 
thee!” she cried, “let me reach thee and my knife shall 
pierce thee ! Thou art ashen pale, beardless slave ! ” 

She closed upon him and they wrestled together, but an 
invisible power seemed to give strength to the Christian ; 
he held her tight, and the old oak under which they stood 
seemed to help him, for the loosened roots above the 
ground tripped her up. Close by rose a bubbling spring 
and he sprinkled her with water and commanded the 
unclean spirit to leave her, making the sign of the cross 
over her according to Christian usage. But the baptismal 
water has no power if the spring of faith flows not from 
within. Yet even here something more than man’s 
strength opposed itself, through him, against the evil 
which struggled within her. Her arms fell, and she 
looked with astonishment and paling cheeks at this man 
who seemed to be a mighty magician skilled in secret 
arts. These were dark Runes he was repeating and 
cabalistic signs he was tracing in the air. She would 
not have blenched had he flourished a shining sword, or a 
sharp axe before her face, but she trembled now as he 
traced the sign of the cross upon her forehead and bosom, 
and sat before him with drooping head like a wild bird tamed. 

He spoke gently to her about the deed of love she had 
performed for him this night, when she came in the 
hideous shape of a toad, cut his bonds asunder, and led 
him out to light and life. She herself was bound, he said, 
and with stronger bonds than his; but she also, through 
him, should reach to light and life everlasting. He would 
take her to Hedeby, to the holy Ansgarius, and there, in 
that Christian city, the spell would be removed; but she 
must no longer sit in front of him on the horse, even if she 
w T ent of her own free will ; he dared not carry her thus. 

“ Thou must sit behind me, not before me ; thy magic 
beauty has a power given by the Evil One which I dread ; 
yet shall I have the victory through Christ 1 ” 

He knelt down and prayed humbly and earnestly. It 
seemed as if the quiet wood became a holy church conse- 


The Marsh Kings Daughter 289 

crated by his worship. The birds began to sing as if they 
too were also of this new congregation, and the fragrance 
of the wild flowers was as the ambrosial perfume of incense, 
while the young priest recited the words of Holy Writ : 
“The Day-spring from on high hath visited us. To give 
light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of 
death, to guide their feet into the way of peace.” 

He spoke of the yearning of all nature for redemption, 
and while he spoke the horse which had carried them 
stood quietly by, only rustling among the bramble-bushes, 
making the ripe, juicy fruit fall into little Helga’s hands, 
as if inviting her to refresh herself. Patiently she allowed 
herself to be lifted on to the horse’s back, and sat there 
like one in a trance, who neither watches nor wanders. 
The Christian man bound together two branches in the 
shape of a cross, which he held aloft in his hand as he 
rode through the wood. The brushwood grew thicker 
and thicker, till at last it became a trackless wilderness. 
Bushes of the wild sloe blocked the way, and they had 
to ride round them. The bubbling springs turned to 
standing pools, and these they also had to ride round; 
still they found strength and refreshment in the pure 
breezes of the forest, and no less a power in the tender 
words of faith and love spoken by the young priest in his 
fervent desire to lead this poor straying one into the way of 
light and love. 

It is said that raindrops can wear a hollow in the hardest 
stone, and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the 
jagged rocks; so did the dew of mercy falling upon little 
Helga, soften all that was hard and smooth all that was 
rough in her. Not that these effects were yet to be seen ; 
she did not even know that they had taken place, any more 
than the buried seed lying in the earth knows that the 
refreshing showers and the warm sunbeams will cause it to 
flourish and bloom. 

As the mother’s song unconsciously falls upon the 
child’s heart, it stammers the words after her without 
understanding them ; but later they crystallize into 
thoughts, and in time become clear. In this way the 
“ Word ” also worked here in the heart of Helga. 

They rode out of the wood, over a heath, and again 
through trackless forests. Towards evening they met a 
band of robbers. 


29c The Marsh King’s Daughter 

“ Where hast thou stolen this beautiful child ? ” they 
cried, stopping the horse and pulling down the two riders, 
for they were a numerous party. 

The priest had no weapon but the knife which he had 
taken from little Helga, and with this he struck out right 
and left. One of the robbers raised his axe to strike him, 
but the Christian succeeded in springing on one side, or 
he would certainly have been hit ; but the blade flew into 
the horse’s neck, so that the blood gushed forth, and it 
fell to the ground dead. Then little Helga, as if roused 
from a long, deep trance, rushed forward and threw her- 
self on to the gasping horse. The priest placed himself 
in front of her as a shield and defence; but one of the 
robbers swung his iron club with such force at his head 
that the blood and the brains were scattered about, and 
he fell dead upon the ground. 

The robbers seized little Helga by her white arms, but 
the sun was just going down, and as the last rays vanished 
she was changed into the form of a frog. A greenish-white 
mouth stretched half over her face; her arms became thin 
and slimy ; while broad hands, with webbed fingers, spread 
themselves out like fans. The robbers in terror let her go, 
and she stood among them a hideous monster ; and, 
according to frog nature, she bounded away with great 
leaps as high as herself, and disappeared in the thicket. 
Then the robbers perceived that this must be Loki’s evil 
spirit or some other witchcraft, and they hurried away 
affrighted. 

The full moon had risen and was shining in all its 
splendour when poor little Helga, in the form of a frog, 
crept out of the thicket. She stopped by the body of the 
Christian priest and the dead horse; she looked at them 
with eyes which seemed to weep ; a sob came from the toad 
like that of a child bursting into tears. She threw herself 
down, first upon one, and then on the other ; and brought 
water in her hand, which, from being large and webbed, 
formed a cup. This she sprinkled them with; but they 
were dead, and dead they must remain ! This she under- 
stood. Soon wild animals would come and devour them ; 
but no, that should never be ; so she dug into the ground 
as deep as she could ; she wished to dig a grave for them. 
She had nothing but the branch of a tree and her two hands, 
and she tore the web between her fingers till the blood 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 291 

ran from them. She soon saw that the task would be beyond 
her, so she fetched fresh water and washed the face of the 
dead man, and strewed fresh green leaves over it. She also 
brought large boughs to cover him, and scattered dried leaves 
between the branches. Then she brought the heaviest stones 
she could carry, and laid them over the dead body, filling up 
the spaces with moss. Now she thought the mound was 
strong and secure enough, but the difficult task had employed 
the whole night ; the sun was just rising, and there stood little 
Helga in all her beauty with bleeding hands and maidenly 
tears for the first time on her blushing cheeks. 

It was in this transformation as if two natures were 
struggling in her; she trembled and glanced round as if 
she were just awaking from a troubled dream. She leaned 
for support against a slender beech, and at last climbed to 
the topmost branches like a cat and seated herself firmly 
upon them. She sat there for the whole livelong day like 
a frightened squirrel in the solitude of the wood where all 
is still, and dead, as they say ! 

Dead — well there flew a couple of butterflies whirling 
round and round each other, and close by were some ant- 
hills each with its hundreds of busy little creatures swarming 
to and fro. In the air danced countless midges, and swarm 
upon swarm of flies, lady-birds, dragon-flies with golden 
wings, and other little winged creatures. The earthworm 
crept forth from the moist ground, and the moles — but 
excepting these all was still and dead around ; when people 
say this they don’t quite understand what they mean. None 
noticed little Helga but a flock of jackdaws which flew 
chattering round the tree where she sat. They hopped 
along the branch towards her boldly inquisitive, but a 
glance from her eye was enough to drive them away. 
They could not make her out though, any more than she 
could understand herself. 

When the evening drew near and the sun began to sink, 
the approaching transformation roused her to fresh exertion. 
She slipped down gently from the tree, and when the last 
sunbeam was extinguished she sat there once more, the 
shrivelled up frog with her tom, webbed hands; but her 
eyes now shone with a new beauty which they had hardly 
possessed in all the pride of her loveliness. These were 
the gentlest and tenderest maiden’s eyes which now shone 
out of the face of the frog. They bore witness to the 


292 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

existence of deep feeling and a human heart; and the 
beauteous eyes overflowed with tears, weeping precious 
drops that lightened the heart. 

The cross made of branches, the last work of him who 
now was dead and cold, still lay by the grave. Little 
Helga took it up, the thought came unconsciously, and 
she placed it between the stones which covered man and 
horse. At the sad recollection her tears burst forth again, 
and in this mood she traced the same sign in the earth 
round the grave — and as she formed with both hands the 
sign of the cross, the webbed skin fell away from her fingers 
like a torn glove. She washed her hands at the spring and 
gazed in astonishment at their delicate whiteness. Again 
she made the holy sign in the air, between herself and 
the dead man; her lips trembled, her tongue moved, and 
the name which she in her ride through the forest had so 
often heard, rose to her lips, and she uttered the words 
“Jesus Christ.” 

The frog’s skin fell away from her, she was the beautiful 
young maiden, but her head bent wearily and her limbs 
required rest. She slept. But her sleep was short, she was 
awakened at midnight, before her stood the dead horse 
prancing and full of life, which shone forth from his eyes 
and his wounded neck. Close by his side appeared the 
murdered Christian priest, “more beautiful than Baldur,” 
the Viking’s wife might indeed have said, and yet he was 
surrounded by flames of fire. 

There was such earnestness in his large, mild eyes, and 
such righteous judgment in his penetrating glance which 
pierced into the remotest corners of her heart. Little Helga 
trembled, and every memory within her was awakened as if 
it had been the day of Judgment. Every kindness which 
had ever been shown her, every loving word which had been 
said to her, came vividly before her. She now understood 
that it was love which had sustained her in those days of 
trial, through which aril creatures formed of dust and clay, 
soul and spirit, must wrestle and struggle. She acknowledged 
that she had but followed whither she was called, had done 
nothing for herself ; all had been given her. She bent now 
in lowly humility, and full of shame, before Him who could 
read every impulse of her heart ; and in that moment she 
felt the purifying flame of the Holy Spirit thrill through 
her soul. 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 293 

“ Thou daughter of earth ! ” said the Christian martyr, 
“ out of the earth art thou come, from the earth shalt thou 
rise again ! The sunlight within thee shall consciously 
return to its origin ; not the beams of the actual sun, but 
those from God ! No soul will be lost, things temporal 
are full of weariness, but eternity is life giving. I come 
from the land of the dead ; thou also must one day journey 
through the deep valleys to reach the radiant mountain 
summits where dwell grace and all perfection. I cannot 
lead thee to Hedeby for Christian baptism ; first must thou 
break the watery shield that covers the deep morass, and 
bring forth from its depths the living author of thy being 
and thy life ; thou must first carry out thy vocation before 
thy consecration may take place ! ” 

Then he lifted her up on to the horse, and gave her a 
golden censer like those she had seen in the Viking’s hall. 
A fragrant perfume arose from it, and the open wound on 
the martyr’s forehead gleamed like a radiant diadem. He 
took the cross from the grave, holding it high above him, 
while they rode rapidly through the air; across the mur- 
muring woods, and over the heights where the mighty 
warriors of old lay buried, each seated on his dead war- 
horse. These strong men of war arose and rode out to 
the summits of the mounds ; the broad golden circlets 
round their foreheads gleaming in the moonlight, and their 
cloaks fluttering in the wind. The great dragon hoarding 
his treasure raised his head to look at them, and whole 
hosts of dwarfs peeped forth from their hillocks, swarming 
with red, green, and blue lights, like sparks from the ashes 
of burnt paper. 

Away they flew over wood and heath, rivers and pools, up 
north towards the Wild Bog ; arrived here they hovered 
round in great circles. The martyr raised high the cross, it 
shone like gold, and his lips chanted the holy mass. Little 
Helga sang with him as a child joins in its mother’s song. 
She swung the censer, and from it issued a fragrance of the 
altar so strong and so wonder-working that the reeds and 
rushes burst into blossom, and numberless flower stems shot 
up from the bottomless depths ; everything that had life 
within it lifted itself up and blossomed. The water-lilies 
spread themselves over the surface of the pool like a carpet 
of wrought flowers, and on this carpet lay a sleeping woman. 
She was young and beautiful ; little Helga fancied she saw 


294 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

herself, her picture mirrored in the quiet pool. It was her 
mother she saw, the wife of the Marsh King, the princess 
from the river Nile. 

The martyred priest commanded the sleeping woman to 
be lifted up on to the horse, but the animal sank beneath 
the burden, as though it had no more substance than a 
winding-sheet floating on the wind ; but the sign of the cross 
gave strength to the phantom, and all three rode on through 
the air to dry ground. Just then the cock crew from the 
Viking’s hall, and the vision melted away in the mist which 
was driven along by the wind, but mother and daughter 
stood side by side. 

“ Is it myself I see reflected in the deep water ? ” said the 
mother. 

“ Do I see myself mirrored in a bright shield ? ” said the 
daughter. But as they approached and clasped each other 
heart to heart, the mother’s heart beat the fastest, and she 
understood. 

“ My child ! my own heart’s blossom ! my lotus out of the 
deep waters ! ” and she wept over her daughter ; her tears 
were a new baptism of love and life for little Helga. “ I 
came hither in a swan’s plumage, and here I threw it off,” 
said the mother. “ I sank down into the bog, which closed 
around me. Some power always dragged me down, deeper 
and deeper. I felt the hand of sleep pressing upon my 
eyelids. I fell asleep, and I dreamt — I seemed to be again 
in the vast Egyptian Pyramid ; but still before me stood the 
moving alder stump which had frightened me on the surface 
of the bog. I gazed at the fissures of the bark and they 
shone out in bright colours and turned to hieroglyphs ; it 
was the mummy’s wrappings I was looking at. The cover- 
ings burst asunder, and out of them walked the mummy 
king of a thousand years ago, black as pitch, black as 
the shining wood-snail or the slimy mud of the swamp. 
Whether it were the Mummy King or the Marsh 
King I knew not. He threw his arms around me, and 
I felt that I must die. When life came back to me 
I felt something warm upon my bosom ; a little bird 
fluttering its wings and twittering. It flew from my 
bosom high up towards the heavy dark canopy, but a long 
green ribbon still bound it to me; I heard and understood 
its notes of longing : ‘ Freedom ! Sunshine ! To the 
Father ! ’ I remembered my own father in the sunlit land 


The Marsh King's Daughter 295 

of my home, my life, and my love ! and I loosened the 
ribbon and let it flutter away — home to my father. Since 
that hour I have dreamt no more ; I must have slept a long 
and heavy sleep till this hour, when sweet music and fragrant 
odours awoke me and set me free.” 

Where did now the green ribbon flutter which bound the 
mother’s heart to the wings of the bird ? Only the stork 
had seen it. The ribbon was the green stem, the bow the 
gleaming flower which cradled the little baby, now grown up 
to her full beauty, and once more resting on her mother’s 
breast. While they stood there pressed heart to heart the 
stork was wheeling above their heads in great circles ; at 
length he flew away to his nest and brought back the swan 
plumages so long cherished there. He threw one over each 
of them ; the feathers closed over them closely, and mother 
and daughter rose into the air as two white swans. 

“Now let us talk!” said the father stork; “for we can 
understand each other’s language, even if one sort of bird 
has a different shaped beak from another. It is the most 
fortunate thing in the world that you appeared this evening. 
To-morrow we should have been off, mother and I and the 
young ones. We are going to fly southwards. Yes, you 
may look at me ! I am an old friend from the Nile, so is 
mother too ; her heart is not so sharp as her beak ! She 
always said that the Princess would take care of herself ! I 
and the young ones carried the swans’ plumage up here ! 
How delighted I am, and how lucky it is that I am still 
here ; as soon as the day dawns we will set off, a great com- 
pany of storks. We will fly in front, you had better follow 
us and then you won’t lose your way, and we will keep an 
eye upon you.” 

“ And the lotus flower which I was to take with me,” said 
the Egyptian Princess, “flies by my side in a swan’s 
plumage. I take the flower of my heart with me, and so 
the riddle is solved. Now for home ! home !” 

But Helga said she could not leave the Danish land with- 
out seeing her loving foster-mother once more, the Viking’s 
wife. For in Helga’s memory now rose up every happy 
recollection, every tender word and every tear her foster- 
mother had shed over her, and it almost seemed as if she 
loved this mother best. 

“ Yes, we must go to the Viking’s hall ” said the father 
stork ; “ mother and the young ones are waiting for us there. 

u 


296 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

How they will open their eyes and flap their wings ! Mother 
doesn’t say much ; she is somewhat short and abrupt, but 
she means very well. Now I will make a great clattering to 
let them know we are coming ! ” 

So he clattered with his beak, and he and the swans flew 
off to the Viking’s hall. 

They all lay in a deep sleep within ; the Viking’s wife had 
gone late to rest, for she was in great anxiety about little 
Helga, who had not been seen for three days. She had 
disappeared with the Christian priest, and she must have 
helped him away ; it was her horse which was missing from 
the stable. By what power had this been brought to pass ? 
The Viking’s wife thought over all the many miracles which 
were said to have been performed by the “White Christ,” 
and by those who believed in Him and followed Him. All 
these thoughts took form in her dreams, and it seemed to 
her that she was still awake, sitting thoughtfully upon her 
bed while darkness reigned without. A storm arose ; she 
heard the rolling of the waves east and west of her from the 
North Sea, and from the waters of the Cattegat. The 
monstrous serpent which, according to her faith, encompassed 
the earth in the depths of the ocean, was trembling in con- 
vulsions from dread of “ Ragnarok,” the night of the gods. 
He personified the day of Judgment when everything should 
pass away, even the great gods themselves. The Gialler 
horn sounded, and away over the rainbow rode the gods, 
clad in steel to fight their last battle ; before them flew the 
shield maidens the Valkyrias, and the ranks were closed by 
the phantoms of the dead warriors. The whole atmosphere 
shone in the radiance of the northern lights, but darkness 
conquered in the end. It was a terrible hour, and in her dream 
little Helga sat close beside the frightened woman, crouching 
on the floor in the form of ihe hideous frog. She trembled 
and crept closer to her foster-mother who took her on her 
knee, and in her love pressed her to her bosom notwith- 
standing the hideous frog’s skin. And the air resounded 
with the clashing of sword and club, and the whistling of 
arrows as though a fierce hailstorm were passing over them. 
The hour had come when heaven and earth were to pass 
away, the stars to fall, and everything to succumb to Surtur’s 
fire — and yet a new earth and a new heaven would arise, 
and fields of corn would wave where the seas now rolled 
over the golden sands. The God whom none might name 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 297 

would reign., and to Him would ascend Baldur the mild, the 
loving, redeemed from the kingdom of the dead — he was 
coming — the Viking’s wife saw him plainly, she knew his 
face — it was that of the Christian priest, their prisoner. 
“White Christ,” she cried aloud, and as she named the 
name she pressed a kiss upon the forehead of the loathsome 
toad ; the frog’s skin fell away and before her stood little 
Helga in all the radiance of her beauty, gentle as she had 
never been before and with beaming eyes. She kissed her 
foster-mother’s hands, and blessed her for all the care and 
love she had shown in the days of her trial and misery. She 
thanked her for the thoughts she had instilled into her, and 
for naming the name which she now repeated, “White 
Christ ! ” Little Helga rose up as a great white swan and 
spread her wings, with the rushing sound of a flock of birds 
of passage on the wing. 

The Viking’s wife was awakened by the rushing sound of 
wings outside; she knew it was the time when the storks 
took their flight, and it was these she heard. She wanted to 
see them once more and to bid them farewell, so she got up 
and went out on to the balcony ; she saw stork upon stork 
sitting on the roofs of the outbuildings round the courtyard, 
and flocks of them were flying round and round in great 
circles. Just in front of her, on the edge of the well where 
little Helga so often had frightened her with her wildness, 
sat two white swans, who gazed at her with their wise eyes, 
Then she remembered her dream, which still seemed quite 
real to her. She thought of little Helga in the form of a 
swan. She thought of the Christian priest and suddenly a 
great joy arose in her heart. The swans flapped their wings 
and bent their heads as if to greet her, and the Viking’s 
wife stretched out her arms towards them as if she understood 
all about it, and she smiled at them with tears in her eyes. 

“We are not going to wait for the swans,” said the mother 
stork ; “ if they want to travel with us they must come. We 
can’t dawdle here till the plovers start ! It is very nice to 
travel as we do, the whole family together, not like the 
chaffinches and the ruffs, when the males and females fly 
separately ; it’s hardly decent ! And why are those swans 
flapping their wings like that ? ” 

“ Well, everyone flies in his own way,” said the father stork. 

“ The swans fly in an oblique line, the cranes in the form ol 
a triangle, and the plovers in a curved line like a snake.” 


298 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

“ Don’t talk about snakes while we are flying up here,” 
said the mother stork. “It puts desires into the young 
one’s heads which they can’t gratify.” 

“ Are those the high mountains I used to hear about ? ” 
asked Helga in the swan’s plumage. 

“ Those are thunder clouds driving along beneath us,” said 
her mother. 

“What are those white clouds that rise so high?” again 
enquired Helga. 

“ Those are mountains covered with perpetual snows that 
you see yonder,” said her mother, as they flew across the 
Alps down towards the blue Mediterranean. 

“ Africa’s land ! Egypt’s strand ! ” sang the daughter 
of the Nile in her joy, as from far above in her swan’s 
plumage, her eye fell upon the narrow waving yellow line, 
her birthplace. The other birds saw it too and hastened 
their flight. 

“ I smell the Nile mud and the frogs,” said the mother 
stork. “ I am tingling all over. Now, you will have some- 
thing nice to taste, and something to see too. There are the 
marabouts, the ibis, and the crane. They all belong to our 
family, but they are not nearly so handsome as we are ; they 
are very stuck up though, especially the ibis, they have been 
so spoilt by the Egyptians. They make mummies of him, 
and stuff him with spices. I would rather be stuffed with 
living frogs, and so would you, and so you shall be ! Better 
have something in your crops while you are alive, than have 
a great fuss made over you after you are dead. That is my 
opinion, and I am always right.” 

“ The storks have come back,” was said in the great house 
on the Nile, where its lord lay in the great hall on his downy 
cushions covered with a leopard skin, scarcely alive, and yet 
not dead either, waiting and hoping for the lotus flower from 
the deep morass in the north. 

Relatives and servants stood round his couch, when two 
great white white swans who had come with the storks flew 
into the hall. They threw off their dazzling plumage, and 
there stood two beautiful women as like each other as twin 
drops of dew. They bent over the pale withered old man, 
throwing back their long hair. 

As little Helga bent over her grandfather, the colour 
came back to his cheeks and new life returned to his limbs. 
The old man rose with health and energy renewed ; his 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 299 

daughter and granddaughter clasped him in their arms, as 
if with a joyous morning greeting after a long troubled 
night. 

Joy reigned throughout the house and in the stork’s nest 
too, but there the rejoicing was chiefly over the abundance of 
food, especially the swarms of frogs. And while the sages 
hastily sketched the story of the two Princesses and the 
flower of healing, which brought such joy and blessing to the 
land, the parent storks told the same story in their own way 
to their family ; but only when they had all satisfied their 
appetites, or they would have had something better to do 
than to listen to stories. 

“Surely you will be made something at last,” whispered 
the mother stork. “ It wouldn’t be reasonable otherwise.” 

“ Oh, what should I be made ? ” said the father stork ; 
“ and what have I done ? Nothing at all ! ” 

“You have done more than all the others! Without 
you and the young ones the two Princesses would never 
have seen Egypt again, nor would the old man have re- 
covered his health. You will become something. They 
will at least give you a doctor’s degree, and our young ones 
will be born with the title, and their young ones after them. 
Why, you look like an Egyptian doctor already, at least in 
my eyes ! ” 

And now the learned men and the sages set to work to 
propound the inner principle, as they called it, that lay at 
the root of the matter. “ Love is the food of life,” was 
their text. Then came the explanations. “ The Princess 
was the warm sunbeam ; she went down to the Marsh King, 
and from their meeting sprang forth the blossom.” 

“ I can’t exactly repeat the words,” said the father stork. 
He had been listening on the roof, and now wanted to tell 
them all about it in the nest. “ What they said was so 
involved and so clever that they not only received rank, but 
presents too ; even the head cook had a mark of distinction 
— most likely for the soup ! ” 

“And what did you get?” asked the mother stork. 
“They ought not to forget the most important person, and 
that is what you are ; the sages have only cackled about it 
all. But your turn will come, no doubt ! ” 

Late at night, when the whole happy household were 
wrapped in peaceful slumbers, there was still one watcher. 
It was not Father Stork, although he stood up in the nest on 


300 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

one leg like a sentry asleep at his post. No, it was little 
Helga. She was watching, bending out over the balcony in 
the clear air, gazing at the shining stars, bigger and purer in 
their radiance than she had ever seen them in the north ; 
and yet they were the same. She thought of the Viking’s 
wife by the Wild Bog ; she thought of her foster-mother’s 
gentle eyes, and the tears she had shed over the poor frog- 
child, who now stood in the bright starlight and delicious 
spring air by the waters of the Nile. She thought of the love 
in the heathen woman’s breast, the love she had lavished on 
a miserable creature, who in human guise was a wild animal, 
and when in the form of an animal was hateful to the sight 
and to the touch. She looked at the shining stars, and 
remembered the dazzling light on the forehead of the 
martyred priest as he flew over moorland and forest. The 
tones of his voice came back to her, and words that he had 
said while she sat overwhelmed and crushed — words con- 
cerning the sublime source of love, the highest love embracing 
all generations of mankind. What had not been won and 
achieved by this love? Day and night little Helga was 
absorbed in the thought of her happiness ; she entirely lost 
herself in the contemplation of it, like a child who turns 
hurriedly from the giver to examine the beautiful gifts. 
Happy she was indeed, and her happiness seemed ever 
growing ; more might come, would come. In these thoughts 
she indulged, until she thought no more of the Giver. It 
was in the wantonness of youth that she thus sinned. Her 
eyes sparkled with pride, but suddenly she was roused from 
her vain dream. She heard a great clatter in the courtyard 
below, and, looking out, saw two great ostriches rushing 
hurriedly round in circles ; never before had she seen this 
great, heavy, clumsy bird, which looked as if its wings had 
been clipped, and the birds themselves had the appearance 
of having been roughly used. She asked what had happened 
to them, and for the first time heard the legend the Egyptians 
tell concerning the ostrich. 

Once, they say, the ostriches were a beautiful and glorious 
race of birds with large, strong wings. One evening the 
great birds of the forest said to it, “Brother, shall we 
to-morrow, God willing, go down to the river to drink ? ” 
And the ostrich answered, “ I will ! ” 

At the break of day, then, they flew off, first rising high 
in the air towards the sun, the eye of God ; still higher and 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 301 

higher the ostrich flew, far in front of the other birds, in its 
pride flying close up to the light. He trusted in his own 
strength, and not on that of the Giver ; he would not say 
“ God-willing ! ” But the avenging angel drew back the 
veil from the flaming ocean of sunlight, and in a moment 
the wings of the proud bird were burnt, and he sank miser- 
ably to the earth. Since that time the ostrich and his race 
have never been able to rise in the air; he can only fly 
terror-stricken along the ground, or round and round in 
narrow circles. It is a warning to mankind, reminding us 
in every thought and action to say “ God willing ! ” 

Helga thoughtfully and seriously bent her head and 
looked at the hunted ostrich, noticed its fear and its miser- 
able pride at the sight of its own great shadow on the white 
moonlit wall. Her thoughts grew graver and more earnest. 
A life so rich in joy had already been given her ; what more 
was to come ? The best of all perhaps — “ God willing ! ” 

Early in the spring, when the storks were again about to 
take flight to the north, little Helga took off her gold 
bracelet, and, scratching her name on it, beckoned to 
Father stork and put it round his neck. She told him to 
take it to the Viking’s wife, who would see by it that her 
foster-daughter still lived, was happy, and had not forgotten 
her. 

“It is a heavy thing to carry !” thought Father stork, as 
it slipped on to his neck ; “ but neither gold nor honour are 
to be thrown upon the highway ! The stork brings good 
luck, they say up there ! ” 

“ You lay gold, and I lay eggs,” said Mother stork ; 
“ but you only lay once and I lay every year. But no one 
appreciates us ; I call it very mortifying ! ” 

“ One always has the consciousness of one’s own worth, 
though, mother ! ” said Father stork. 

“ But you can’t hang it outside,” said Mother stork ; “ it 
neither gives a fair wind nor a full meal ! ” And they took 
their departure. 

The little nightingale singing in the tamarind bushes was 
also going noith soon ; Helga had often heard it singing by 
the Wild Bog, so she determined to send a message by it 
too. She knew the bird language from having worn a swan’s 
plumage, and she had kept it up by speaking to the storks 
and the swallows. The nightingale understood her quite 
well, so she begged it to fly to the beech-wood in Jutland, 


302 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

where she had made the grave of stones and branches ; she 
bade it tell all the other little birds to guard the grave and 
to sing over it. The nightingale flew away — and time flew 
away too. 

In the autumn an eagle perched on one of the Pyramids 
saw a gorgeous train of heavily-laden camels and men clad 
in armour riding fiery Arab steeds as white as silver with 
quivering red nostrils and flowing manes reaching to the 
ground. A royal prince from Arabia, as handsome as a 
prince should be, was arriving at the stately mansion where 
now the storks’ nest stood empty ; its inhabitants were still 
in their northern home ; but they would soon now return — 
nay, on the very day when the rejoicings were at their 
height they returned. They were bridal festivities and little 
Helga was the bride clad in rich silk and many jewels. 
The bridegroom was the young prince from Arabia, and 
they sat together at the upper end of the table between her 
mother and her grandfather. 

But Helga was not looking at the bridegroom’s handsome 
face round which his black beard curled, nor did she look 
into his fiery dark eyes which were fixed upon hers. She 
was gazing up at a brilliant twinkling star which was 
beaming in the heavens. 

Just then there was a rustle of great wings in the air 
outside ; the storks had come back. And the old couple, 
tired as they were and needing rest, flew straight down to 
the railing of the verandah ; they knew nothing about the 
festivities. They had heard on the frontiers of the country 
that little Helga had had them painted on the wall, for they 
belonged to the story of her life. 

“ It was prettily done of her,” said Father stork. 

“ It is little enough,” said Mother stork ; “ they could 
hardly do less.” 

When Helga saw them she rose from the table and went 
out on to the verandah to stroke their wings. The old 
storks bowed their heads and the very youngest ones looked 
on and felt honoured. And Helga looked up at the shining 
star which seemed to grow brighter and purer; between 
herself and the star floated a form purer even than the air 
and therefore visible to her. It floated quite close to her 
and she saw that it was the martyred priest, he also had 
come to her great festival — come even from the heavenly 
kingdom. 


The Marsh King’s Daughter 303 

“ The glory and bliss yonder, far outshines these earthly 
splendours,” he said. 

Little Helga prayed more earnestly and meekly than she 
had ever done before, that for one single moment she might 
gaze into the kingdom of Heaven. Then she felt herself 
lifted up above the earth in a stream of sweet sounds and 
thoughts. The unearthly music was not only around her, it 
was within her. No words can express it. 

“ Now we must return ; you will be missed,” said the 
martyr. 

“ Only one glance more,” she pleaded; “ only one short 
moment more.” 

“ We must return to earth ; the guests are departing.” 

“ Only one look — the last.” 

Little Helga stood once again on the verandah, but all 
the torches outside were extinguished and the lights in the 
banqueting hall were out too ; the storks were gone ; no 
guests were to be seen ; no bridegroom — all had vanished 
in those short three minutes. 

A great dread seized upon Helga ; she walked through 
the great empty hall into the next chamber where strange 
warriors were sleeping. She opened a side door which led 
into her own room, but she found herself in a garden, 
which had never been there before. Red gleams were in 
the sky, dawn was approaching. Only three minutes in 
Heaven, and a whole night on earth had passed away. 

Then she saw the storks ; she called to them in her own 
language. Father stork turned his head, listened, and came 
up to her. 

“ You speak our language,” he said. “ What do you 
want ? Why do you come here, you strange woman ? ” 

“ It is I, it is Helga ; don’t you know me ? We were 
talking to each other in the verandah three minutes ago.” 

“ That is a mistake,” said the stork ; “ you must have 
dreamt it.” 

“No, no,” she said, and she reminded him of the 
Viking’s stronghold, and the Wild Bog, and their journey 
together. 

Father stork blinked his eyes and said, “ Why, that is a 
very old story; I believe it happened in the time of my 
great-great-grandmother. Yes, there certainly was a princess 
in Egypt who came from the Danish land, but she dis- 
appeared on her wedding night many hundred years ago. 


304 The Marsh King’s Daughter 

You may read all about it here, on the monument in the 
garden. There are both storks and swans carved on it, 
and you are at the top yourself, all in white marble.” 

And so it was : Helga understood all about it now and 
sank upon her knees. 

The sun burst forth, and as in former times the frog’s 
skin fell away before his beams and revealed the beautiful 
girl; so now, in the baptism of light, a vision of beauty, 
brighter and purer than the air — a ray of light — rose to the 
Father. The earthly body dropped away in dust — only a 
withered lotus flower lay where she had stood. 

“ Well, that is a new ending to the story,” said Father 
stork ; “ I hadn’t expected that, but I like it very well.” 

“ What will the young ones say about it ? ” asked Mother 
stork. 

“ Ah, that is a very important matter,” said Father stork. 



The Goloshes of Fortune 

A grand party was assembled one evening in a big house 
in East Street, Copenhagen. It was one of those parties 
given no doubt in the expectation that invitations would 
be received in return. Half the con^pany were already 
seated at the card tables, and the other half were waiting 
to see what would be the result of a remark of their hostess 
— “ Now we must see what we can do to amuse ourselves.” 

They were at this point, and the conversation was getting 
on as well as it could. Among other subjects it fell upon 
the Middle Ages ; some considered that period far superior 
to our own, nay, Mr Councillor Knap defended this view so 
vigorously, that he won over the hostess to his side, and 
both inveighed against Oersted’s article in the Almanack on 
Ancient and Modern Times, in which the preference is 
given to our own. The Councillor considered the times, of 
King Hans , 1 as the noblest and happiest. 

During all this talk, which was only interrupted for a 
moment by the arrival of the newspaper in which there was 
nothing worth reading, we will retire into the ante-room 
which was given up to cloaks, sticks, umbrellas and 
goloshes. 

Two maidens were sitting here, one young and one old ; 
it might be supposed that they had come to accompany 
their mistresses home, some old maid or widow lady. If, 
however, one looked a little closer, one soon saw that they 
were not ordinary maids ; their hands were too white, their 
bearing and their movements were too distinguished for that, 
and then the cut of their clothes was too elegant and 
uncommon. 

They were in fact two fairies, the youngest, though not 
Dame Fortune herself, was the messenger of one of her 
maids-of-honour, used to carry about the smaller gifts of 
fortune. The elder one looked very serious ; she was 
1 He died in 1513. 


306 The Goloshes of Fortune 

Sorrow, and she always goes about herself, to do her errands 
in person, for then she knows they are well done. 

They were telling each other where they had been during 
the day ; she who was the handmaid of Fortune had only 
been employed on some trifling matters, such as saving a 
new hat from a downpour of rain, and procuring a greeting 
for an honest man from a grand Nobody, and so on. What 
she still had left to do was quite out of the ordinary way. 

“ I must tell you,” she said, “ that to-day is my birthday, 
and in honour of it I have had intrusted to me a pair of 
goloshes which I am to convey to mankind. These 
goloshes have this property, that whoever puts them on will 
immediately find himself in whatever palace or period he 
would like ; every wish with regard to time or place will be 
at once gratified, and the wearer will thus for once find 
perfect happiness in this world ! ” 

“ A likely story ! ” said Sorrow ; he will be sorely unhappy, 
and will bless the moment when he can get rid of the 
goloshes ! ” 

What nonsense you are talking,” said the other ; “ I will 
place them here near the door, and someone will take them 
by mistake, and in putting them on will find happiness.” 
Thus ended the conversation. 

CHAPTER II 

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COUNCILLOR 

It was late when Councillor Knap, lost in thought about 
the good old times of King Hans, wanted to go home, and 
Fate willed it so that instead of his own goloshes, he put on 
those of Fortune, and went out into East Street. But, by 
the magic power of the goloshes, in doing so he stepped 
straight back three hundred years into the reign of King 
Hans, and therefore his feet sank into the mud and slush of 
those times, the streets then not being paved 

“ Oh ! this is terrible ! ” he said ; “ what mud ! and 
what has become of the footpath? And the lamps are 
extinguished ! ” 

The moon had not yet risen and it was rather foggy, so 
that everything melted away into darkness. At the nearest 
street corner, however, hung a lantern in front of an image 
of the Madonna, but the light it gave was as good as none, 


The Goloshes of Fortune 307 

he only saw it when he was close under it and his eyes fell 
on the figures of the Mother and Child. 

“ It is most likely a Museum of Art, and they have 
forgotten to take down the sign.” 

Two persons in the dress of the Middle Ages passed 
him. 

“ Who on earth are these ? They must be coming from 
a Masquerade.” 

All at once he heard drums and fifes, and blazing torches 
shone around him ; the Councillor stopped to look, while 
the extraordinary procession passed him. First came a 
whole troop of drummers, beating their drums very cleverly ; 
they were followed by halberdiers with long bows and cross- 
bows. The principal person in the procession wore a 
clerical dress. In astonishment the Councillor asked whas 
was the meaning of all this, and who the man was ? 

“ It is the Bishop of Zealand ! he was answered. 

“ Good gracious ! ” he explained, “ whatever has the 
Bishop taken into his head ? ” Then he shook his head and 
murmured that it could not possibly be the Bishop. Musing 
over this and without looking either to the right or the left 
the Councillor walked on down East Street and over the 
High Bridge Place. He could not find the bridge to Palace 
Square at all, but only saw a shallow stream, and at last 
came upon two men with a boat. 

“ Does the gentleman want to be put over to Holm ? n 
asked they. 

“ Over to Holm ? ” said the Councillor, who had no idea 
in what Age he was now living. “ I want to go to 
Christian’s Haven in Little Turf Street.” 

The men stared at him. 

“ Only tell me where to find the bridge,” he said. “ It’s 
shameful that there are no lamps lighted, and then it’s so 
muddy one might be walking in a swamp.” 

But the more be talked to the boatmen, the less they 
understood each other. 

*• I don’t understand your jargon,” he cried at last, and 
turned his back on them. The bridge, however, he could 
not find nor any railing. “ What a scandalous condition the 
place is in,” he said. Never certainly had he found his own 
Age so miserable as on this evening. “ I think it will be 
better for me to take a coach ; but where are they ? ” There 
was not one to be seen. “ I must go back to the King’s 


308 The Goloshes of Fortune 

New Market Place, where there is a stand, or I shall never 
get back to Christian’s Haven.” 

So then he walked back to East Street, and had nearly 
traversed the length of it, when the moon burst through a 
cloud. 

“ Good gracious ! Whatever is that erection ? ” he 
exclaimed, as he caught sight of the East Gate which in 
olden times used to stand at the end of East Street. At 
last he found a wicket gate, and passed through on to what 
is now the New Market Place. Nothing was to be seen but 
a great open meadow, a few solitary bushes stood here and 
there, and a wide stream flowed across it. On the opposite 
bank stood a few miserable wooden booths used by the 
Dutch watermen, whence it gained its name of the Dutch 
meadow. 

“ Either I see a Fata Morgana, as they call it, or else I 
am drunk ! ” the Councillor groaned. “ What can it be ? 
What is the matter with me ? ” He turned back again, 
firmly convinced that he must be ill. On entering the 
street again, he looked more closely at the houses, most of 
them were timbered and with thatched roofs. 

“I am certainly quite out of sorts,” he sighed, “and 
yet I only drank one glass of punch. But I can’t stand 
even that ! and it really is too bad to give us punch with 
hot salmon ? I shall have to tell our hostess so ! Shall 
I go straight back and tell them what a condition I am in ? 
It would look so foolish, and I should hardly expect anyone 
to be up now ! ” He tried to find the house, but in vain. 

“This is desperate! I don’t know East Street again! 
Not a shop to be seen, only miserable, tumble down hovels 
such as one might find in Roeskilde or Ringsted. Oh ! 
how ill I am, it’s no good standing on ceremony. But 
where in the world is the agent’s house ? There is a house 
but it’s not like itself ! There are still some people up in 
it, I can hear them. O dear, I feel very queer ! ” 

He found a half-open door through which the light 
streamed. It was a tavern of the olden times, and seemed 
to be a kind of beer-house. The room looked like one 
of the old-fashioned house places of Holstein with a clay 
floor. A number of good folks, consisting mostly of sea- 
men, Copenhagen burghers, and a few scholars, sat in deep 
conversation over their mugs, and took very little notice of 
him as he stepped in. 


The Goloshes of Fortune 309 

“ Pardon me ! ” said the Councillor to the landlady ; “ I 
do not feel very well, and I should be much obliged if you 
would send for a coach to take me home to Christian’s 
Haven.” 

The woman stared at him and shook her head ; then she 
spoke to him in German, from which the Councillor con- 
cluded that she did not understand Danish, and repeated 
his request in German. This, as well as his strange dress, 
convinced the woman that he was a foreigner. She soon 
understood that he felt ill, and brought him a mug of water 
which was certainly rather brackish, as it came from the well 
outside. 

The Councillor rested his head on his hand, drew a 
deep breath, and pondered over all the wonders around 
him. 

“Is that this evening’s Day ?” he asked, for the sake of 
saying something, as he saw the woman folding a large sheet 
of paper. 

She did not understand what he meant, but handed him 
the sheet. It was a woodcut representing a comet seen 
in the city of Cologne. 

“ That is very old,” said the Councillor, becoming quite 
excited at discovering this ancient woodcut. “ Wherever 
did you get this rare print? It is very interesting, although 
the whole affair is a fable. Comets are easily explained in 
these days; they are northern lights, and are no doubt 
caused by electricity.” 

Those who sat near him and heard what he said looked 
at him in astonishment, and one of them rose, took off his 
hat respectfully and said in a very serious manner, “You 
must be a very learned man, monsieur.” 

“Oh no ! ” replied the Councillor ; “ I can only discourse 
a little on topics which everyone should understand.” 

“ Modestia is a beautiful virtue,” said the man; “other- 
wise I must say to your speech mihi secus videtur , yet in 
this case I willingly suspend my judicium .” 

“May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?” 
said the Councillor. 

“ I am Baccalaureus Scripturae Sacrae,” said the man. 

This answer was enough for the Councillor, for the title 
agreed w T ith the dress. Some old village schoolmaster, he 
thought, an odd fellow, such as one still may find in 
Jutland. 


310 The Goloshes of Fortune 

“ This is certainly not a locus docendi” began the man ; 
“still I must beg you to continue the conversation. You 
must be deeply read in the ancient writings.” 

“ Oh, pretty well,” replied the Councillor. “ I am very 
fond of reading useful old books and modern ones as well, 
with the exception of ‘ Everyday Stories/ 1 of which we 
really have more than enough in real life ! ” 

“ Everyday Stories ? ” asked the Baccalaureus. 

“ Yes ; I mean these new novels.” 

“Oh,” replied the man with a smile, “and yet they are 
very witty and are much read at Court. The King is 
especially fond of the ‘ Romance of Iwain and Jawain,’ 
which describes King Arthur and his knights of the Round 
Table. He has joked about it with the gentlemen of his 
Court.” 

“ Well, I have certainly not read that ; I suppose it is a 
new one which Heiberg has just published.” 

“ No,” answered the man ; “ it is not by Heiberg. 

Gottfred von Gehman brought it out.” 

“ Oh, is he the publisher ? That is a very old name ! 
Why, he was the first printer we had in Denmark ! ” 

“ Yesj he is our first printer,” said the man. 

So far all had passed off very well. Now one of the 
burghers began to speak of a terrible pestilence which had 
been raging a year or two before, meaning the plague of 
1484. The Councillor supposed that he alluded to the 
cholera, and they got on without finding out their mistake. 
The Freebooter’s War of 1490 was still so near that it was 
the next topic. The English Freebooters had taken ships 
on the Rheden, said they. The Councillor, who was well 
up in the incident of 1801, was quite at one with them 
against the English. After that the conversation was not 
so pleasant, every moment one contradicted the other. The 
honest Baccalaureus was so ignorant that the simplest 
utterances of the Councillor sounded to him wildly fantastic. 
They looked at each other, and when they became quite 
incomprehensible to each other, Baccalaureus spoke Latin, 
in the hope of being better uuderstood, but it was all of no 
use. 

“How are you now?” asked the landlady, pulling the 
Councillor by the sleeve. This brought him to himself, for 

1 “ Everyday Stories,” popular stories of the day, edited by Heiberg, 
written by Fru Gyllembourg. 


The Goloshes of Fortune 31 1 

while he had been talking he had entirely forgotten what 
had passed before. 

“ Where am I ? ” he said, his brain reeling as he tried to 
think. 

“ We will have claret, mead and Bremen beer,” shouted 
one of the guests, and you shall drink with us ! ” 

Two maids came in, one of them wore a parti-coloured 
hood . 1 They filled the glasses and curtsied : a cold shiver 
ran down the Councillor’s back. 

“What is this? What does it mean?” said he, but he 
was obliged to drink with them. They quite overpowered 



the good man ; he was in despair, and when one of them 
said he was drunk he never doubted the man’s words but 
begged them to fetch him a “droschky,” and then they 
thought he was speaking the Muscovite tongue. 

Never had he been in such low, coarse company; one 
might have thought the country had gone back to heathen- 
dom again. Said he to himself, “ this is the most terrible 
moment of my life !” Just then it came into his head to 
stoop down under the table, creep to the door, and so try 
to get away, but just as he reached the door the others 
perceived his intention and seized him by the feet when, 

1 In the time of King Hans, chambermaids were obliged to wear caps 
of two colours. 

X 


312 The Goloshes of Fortune 

luckily for him, off came the goloshes and with them all 
the enchantment. 

The Councillor now saw quite plainly a brightly burning 
lamp in front of him, and behind it a large house ; every 
house round was familiar to him, he was in East Street just 
as we know it. He was lying with his feet against a gate, 
and the watchman sat opposite fast asleep. 

“ Good heavens ! Have I lain here dreaming in the 
street!” he said. “Yes, to be sure this is East Street, 
as bright and well lighted as usual. It is terrible that one 
glass of punch should have had such an effect on me.” 

Two minutes later he was comfortably seated in a coach 
on his way to Christian’s Haven. He thought of all the 
terror and anxiety he had undergone, and with a full heart 
he prized the happy reality of his own time, which, with all 
its shortcomings, was so much better than that of which he 
had lately made trial. Now this was very wise of the 
Councillor. 


CHAPTER III 

THE WATCHMAN’S ADVENTURE 

“ Why, here is a pair of goloshes ! ” said the watchman. 
“ They must belong to the Lieutenant who lives up there, 
they are close to the door.” The honest man would 
willingly have rung the bell and handed them in for there 
were still lights burning, but he was afraid of disturbing the 
other people in the house, 

“ It must be nice and warm to have those things on,” 
he said, “ the leather is so soft ! ” He slipped his feet into 
them. “ How odd things are in this world ! Now the 
Lieutenant might be in his comfortable bed, but see if he 
is ! No ! he is marching up and down the room. He’s 
a happy man, he has neither wife nor bairns, he goes out 
to parties every night, shouldn’t I like to be in his place, 
then I should be a happy man ! ” 

As he uttered his wish the goloshes began to have their 
effect and the watchman became the Lieutenant in body 
and soul. There he stood upstairs in his room holding 
a little pink paper between his fingers upon which was 
written a poem he had just completed. Who at sometime 
in his life has not been impelled to write poetry? One 
writes poetry when one is in love, but a wise man does not 


The Goloshes of Fortune 313 

print it. The words Lieutenant, Love and Lack of gold 
form a triplet, or better still, a half of Fortune’s shattered 
die. The Lieutenant felt this also, and so, as he leant 
against the window, he said with a sigh : 

“ The poor watchman out in the street is far happier than 
I ! He does not know privation as I do ! He has a home, 
wife and children who weep with him in his sorrow and 
rejoice with his joy ! Oh, I should be happier than I am 
if I could change places with him ! ” 

At this moment the watchman again became a watchman 
because it was through the goloshes of Fortune that he had 
become a Lieutenant. As we see, he felt far less happy, 
and preferred to be what he really was, so the watchman 
was again a watchman. 

“ That was an ugly dream ! ” said he ; “ but curiously 
enough I thought I was the Lieutenant up there, and there 
was no pleasure in it. I missed my old woman and the 
little ones ; they’re always ready to smother me with 
kisses.” 

Then he sat nodding again, he could not get the dream 
quite out of his head, for he still had the goloshes on. A 
shooting star darted across the sky. 

“ There it goes ! ” he said ; “ there are plenty of them. 
I should like well enough to see those affairs a bit nearer, 
especially the moon ; it wouldn’t slip through my fingers. 
The student for whom my wife washes says that when we 
die we fly from one to the other of them. It’s a lie, of 
course, but it wouldn’t be bad. If I could have a little 
trip up there, I’d willingly leave my body behind.” Now 
there are certain things in the world we should beware of 
expressing, especially if we have Fortune’s goloshes on our 
feet. Just listen to the watchman’s adventure. 

Few amongst us are not acquainted with the rapidity of 
steam-travelling either on land by railway, or at sea by boat, 
but these flights are only like the wanderings of the sloth, 
or the march of the snail, compared with the velocity of 
light. Light travels nineteen million times faster than the 
best racehorse, but it is again outstripped by electricity. 
Death is an electric shock which touches the heart; the 
soul when freed is borne on the wings of electricity. The 
sunlight takes eight minutes and some seconds to perform a 
journey of over twenty millions of miles, but the soul per- 
forms the same distance in an infinitely shorter space of 


314 The Goloshes of Fortune 

time. The space between the heavenly bodies is, for it, 
not greater than would be to us the distance between our 
friends’ houses in a town, even if these were rather close 
together. In the meantime this electric shock entirely 
deprives us of the use of our bodies, unless like the watch- 
man we are wearing the goloshes of Fortune. In a few 
seconds the watchman had traversed the 52,000 miles to 
the moon, which is, as we know, made of a much softer 
material than our earth ; it is more like new fallen snow. 
He found himself on one of the numerous mountains which 
we all know from Dr Madler’s large map of the moon. The 
interior of the mountain was like a large cauldron, a whole 
Danish mile in depth. At the bottom of this cauldron lay 
a town, of whose appearance an idea may be formed by 
putting the white of an egg into a glass of water, the sub- 
stance of which it was made being quite as soft, while 
similar towers with cupolas and hanging balconies, all 
perfectly transparent, hovered in the thin clear air. Our 
earth floated above his head like a great blood-red ball. 

Crowds of beings, all no doubt what we should call 
persons, moved about ; but their appearance was very 
different from ours. They also had a language which 
nobody could expect the soul of the watchman to under- 
stand, this however it did. The soul of the watchman 
understood the language of the moon-dwellers perfectly 
well. They were disputing about our earth, and doubting 
whether it could be inhabited ; the air, they thought, must 
be too thick for any sensible moon-being to live in it. 
Most of them were of opinion that the moon alone was 
inhabited, it was the original globe in which the old-world 
people lived. 

Now we must return to East Street to see what has 
become of the watchman’s body. 

Lifeless on the steps it lay ; the Morning Star 1 had fallen 
out of its hand, and the eyes looked up towards the moon, 
where its honest companion the soul was wandering. 

“ What o’clock is it, watchman ? ” asked a passer by. 
But the watchman did not answer, so the enquirer gently 
tapped him on the nose and away went his balance, the 
body fell down full length, for the watchman was dead you 
know. A great fright had come over the man who had 
pushed him, the watchman was dead, and dead he remained. 

1 His badge of office, a club armed with iron spikes. 


The Goloshes of Fortune 315 

The death was notified, and at dawn the body was taken to 
the hospital. 

It might be a rare joke for the soul when it came back, 
if, as in all probability, it went to East Street to look for the 
body, and failed to find it there. Probably it would first go 
to the police station, then to the lost property office to 
advertise for it among other things lost or stolen ; and last 
of all it might go to the hospital. However, it may console 
us to know that the soul is wisest when left to itself ; it is 
the body which makes it stupid. 

As we said before, the watchman’s body went to the 
hospital, where it was first taken into the bathroom and the 
goloshes were, of course, taken off. Then the soul had to 
come back again; it immediately took possession of the 
body, and the man came to life at once. He declared that 
it had been the most terrible night of his life, and not for a 
shilling would he go through it again. However, all was 
over now. He was discharged the same day, but the 
goloshes were left at the hospital. 

CHAPTER IV 

A CRITICAL MOMENT — AN EVENING^ DRAMATIC READING 

A MOST UNUSUAL. JOURNEY 

Everyone in Copenhagen knows what the Frederik’s 
Hospital looks like, but, as probably some strangers may 
read this tale, we must give a short description of it. 

The hospital is separated from the street by a rather high 
railing of which the thick iron bars are just so far apart 
that a thin student — so the story goes — could squeeze 
through them, and so pay little visits to the outside world. 
The part of the body most difficult to squeeze through was 
the head ; in this case as so often in the world, a small head 
was the most convenient. This will be a sufficient intro- 
duction. 

One of the young medical students, of whom only in a 
physical sense could it be said that he was thick-headed, 
happened to be on duty that night; it was pouring with 
rain. Notwithstanding these two hindrances he pined to 
get out, if only for a quarter of an hour. It was not worth 
while, he thought, confiding in the porter, if he could slip 
out through the railings. There lay the goloshes the watch- 


3 1 6 The Goloshes of Fortune 

man had forgotten; little did he think that they were 
Fortune’s, but they might be useful in such weather ; so he 
slipped them on. Now came the question whether he could 
slip through the railings; he had never tried it before. 
There he stood. 

“How I wish I had my head through,” he said, and 
immediately, although it was far too big, it slipped through 
quite easily. The goloshes understood all about it. Now 
to get the body through. “Ugh ! I am too stout,” said he. 
“ I thought the head was the greatest difficulty. I shall 
never get through.” 

Then he tried to draw his head back quickly, but it 
wouldn’t come. He could move his neck about, but that 
was all he could do. He first felt very angry, and then his 
spirits sank below zero. The goloshes of Fortune had 
brought him into a terrible position, and unfortunately it 
never occurred to him to wish himself free again. Instead 
of wishing, he struggled to free himself, but in vain. The 
rain poured down, not a creature was to be seen in the 
street. He could not reach the bell by the gate ; how was 
he to get away. He foresaw that he might have to stand 
there till morning, then a smith would have to be fetched 
to file the bars, and it would be a very slow business. All 
the blue coat boys from the school opposite would be on 
the move, the people from Nyboder would appear on the 
scene for the fun of seeing him in the pillory. There would 
be a much bigger crowd than there was at the meeting for 
the wrestling championship last year. “ Ugh ! ” he cried, 
“ the blood is rushing to my head ; I shall go mad. Oh ! 
if I were only free again I should be all right.” 

Now he should have said this before, no sooner was the 
wish expressed than it was fulfilled, his head was free. He 
rushed into the hospital quite distracted by the terror which 
the goloshes of Fortune had caused him. 

We must not suppose that his adventures were over. No 
indeed the worst is to come. 

The night passed and the following day, but no one sent 
for the goloshes. 

In the evening there was to be a performance in the 
small theatre in Kannicke Street. The house was crammed 
and between the acts a new poem was to be recited. It 
was called “My Aunt’s Spectacles.” It was the story of 
a pair of spectacles which enabled the wearer to look into 


The Goloshes of Fortune 317 

futurity. The poem was excellently recited, and it was 
received with much applause. Among the audience was 
the medical student who seemed entirely to have forgotten 
his adventure of the previous evening. Again he was 
wearing the goloshes, as no one had claimed them, and 
the streets being very muddy, they would do him good 
service, he thought. 

He was much taken with the poem, and the idea of it 
haunted him. He would like such a pair of spectacles well 
enough himself. Perhaps, if they w T ere rightly used, one 
might be able to look straight into people’s hearts, and this 
would be much more interesting, he thought, than to know 
what would happen next year. Future events must, in due 
course, be revealed, whereas the secrets of the heart would 
never be divulged. 

“ I can picture to myself the whole row of ladies and 
gentlemen on the front bench, if one could only look straight 
into their hearts — what a revelation there would be ! A sort 
of shop would open before me and how I should use my 
eyes ! In the heart of that lady opposite, for instance, I 
should expect a whole millinery establishment ! The next 
one would be quite empty, but it would be none the worse 
for a thorough cleaning. There would also be shops of a 
more substantial nature ! Ah, yes ! ” he sighed, “ I know 
one in which everything is substantial and good, but un- 
fortunately there is already a shopman in it, more is the 
pity ! From many I should hear the words, ‘ Be so good as 
to walk inside.’ Ah ! if only he could walk in, as a nice 
little thought passes through the heart ! ” 

This was quite enough for the goloshes, the student shrank 
up into nothing, and began a journey of a most unusual 
kind, right through the hearts of the people in the front row. 
The first heart he entered was that of a lady, but at first he 
imagined himself to be in an Orthopaedic Hospital, where 
people go to have their limbs straightened and to be cured 
of their deformities. He was in a room hung round with 
plaster casts of misshapen .limbs ! but the difference here 
was, that whereas in the hospital, the casts were taken when 
the patients were admitted ; these, in the heart were taken, 
and preserved after the originals had left. They were in 
fact the casts of the bodily and mental deformities of her 
friends, thus carefully preserved. 

Quickly he passed on into the heart of another woman ; 


318 The Goloshes of Fortune 

this one appeared to him as a great sacred church. The 
white dove of Innocence hovered over the altar. How 
gladly would he have fallen on his knees before it, and 
worshipped, but he was hurried on into the next heart. 
Still, however, the notes of the organ echoed in his heart, 
and he seemed to have become another and a better man, 
and not utterly unworthy to enter the next sanctuary. Here 
was revealed to him a poor little attic, where lay a sick 
mother. Poor though it was, God’s warm sunshine streamed 
brightly in ; lovely roses nodded their heads from the little 
wooden box on the roof, while two blue birds warbled sweetly 
of the joys of childhood, and the sick mother called down a 
blessing on her daughter. 

Now he crept on hands and knees through an over- 
crowded butcher’s shop. Flesh, flesh, and nothing but 
flesh; it was the heart of a rich respectable man, whose 
name no doubt will be found in the directory. 

He next entered the heart of the man’s wife. It was an 
old deserted dove-cot ; the husband’s portrait was used as a 
weathercock, which was connected with the doors, so that 
these opened and shut as the man turned about. 

Thence he passed into a cabinet of mirrors such as we 
have in the Castle of Rosenborg, only these had the power 
of magnifying to an extraordinary extent. In the middle of 
the room, on the floor, like the grand Llama of Thibet, sat 
the insignificant “ Ego ” of the person, astonished with the 
contemplation of his own greatness. After this he found 
himself in a narrow needlecase, full of sharp needles. “ This 
must surely be the heart of some old maid ! ” he thought, but 
this was not the case, it was the heart of quite a young 
officer with many medals and orders, and who was con- 
sidered a man of spirit and refinement. 

The wretched student passed out of the last heart in a 
state of great bewilderment, he could not collect his thoughts 
at all, but fancied that his vivid imagination had run away 
with him. 

“Good heavens!” he sighed, “I must be on the high 
road to madness ! It is so desperately hot here, it makes 
the blood rush to my head ! ” All at once he remembered 
the terrible events of the night before, how his head had 
been stuck between the bars of the railing at the hospital. 
“I must have brought it on there,” he said. “There’s 
nothing like taking things in time. A turkish bath would 


The Goloshes of Fortune 319 

be the best thing. I wish I were on the upper shelf 
there ! ” 

Accordingly he found himself on the upper shelf in the 
“Sudarium,” but he lay there in all his clothes, boots and 
goloshes ; the drops of hot water trickled on to his face from 
the ceiling. 

“ Hallo ! he shouted, and rushed down to get a shower- 
bath. The attendant also shouted when he saw a man with 
all his clothes on in the shower-bath. 

The student collected himself sufficiently to whisper, “ it’s 
a wager ! ” The first thing he did when he got home, was 
to put a blister on to his neck and his back, to draw out the 
madness. 

The next morning his back was raw, and that was all he 
gained by the goloshes. 

CHAPTER V 

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE COPYING CLERK 

In the meantime the watchman, whom we have not for- 
gotten, remembered the goloshes he had found, which had 
gone to the hospital with him. He fetched them away, but 
as neither the Lieutenant nor anyone else in the street would 
own them, they were left at the police station. 

“ They’re exactly like my own goloshes,” said one of the 
clerks, as he examined the castaways and measured them with 
his own. “You would have to have a keener eye than a 
shoemaker to see any difference between them !” 

“Mr Clerk!” said an attendant who came in with some 
papers. 

The clerk returned to speak to the man, and when he was 
gone and he returned to his examination of the goloshes, he 
could no longer remember whether the right hand pair or the 
left hand pair were his. “Those which are wet must be 
mine ! ” he thought, but in this he made a mistake for they 
were Fortune’s. Surely the police may make mistakes some- 
times, as well as other people ! 

So he put them on, stuffed some papers into his pockets 
and took some others under his arm, for they were to be read 
and revised at home. It happened to be Sunday morning 
and a very fine day, so he thought a walk in Frederiksborg 
garden would do him good, and out he went. 


320 The Goloshes of Fortune 

No one could be a quieter or more industrious person than 
this young man and right glad are we that he should have this 
little walk, it could only do him good after so much sitting. 

At first he walked along not thinking of anything in par- 
ticular, so the goloshes had no opportunity of exercising 
their magic power. He met a friend in the Avenue, a 
young poet, who told him that his summer holiday was to 
begin on the following day. 

“ Hallo ! are you off again ?” said the clerk. “ You are a 
lucky fellow. You can fly off whenever you like, we others 
are tied by the leg ! ” 

“ Ah ! but one end of the chain is attached to the bread 
fruit tree, you must remember,” answered the poet. “You 
have no cares about your daily bread, and then you have a 
pension.” 

“ Still you are far better off ! ” said the clerk ; “ you can sit 
writing poetry, what a pleasure that is. Everybody says 
pleasant things to you, and you are your own master. I 
should like you to sit writing about all these trivial affairs in 
an office ! ” 

The poet shook his head, the clerk shook his too, and 
neither of them changed their opinions in the least. They 
then took leave of each other. 

“They’re queer cattle these poets,” said the clerk. “I 
should like to understand them and their ways, and to 
become a poet myself; I’m certain I shouldn’t write such 
lackadaisical rhymes as other people. What a lovely spring 
day this is, a perfect poet’s day ! the air is so clear, and the 
clouds are so beautiful, and there is such a delicious scent 
from the flowers and shrubs. I have not felt as I do to-day 
for years ! ” 

We already perceive that he has become a poet, though 
there was no great outward change in him, for it is a foolish 
idea that poets look different from other people. There 
may be many far more poetical natures among persons who 
are not known as poets, than in those of the acknowledged 
poets. The only difference is that the poet has a better 
memory, he can hold fast to a feeling or an idea till it comes 
forth clearly embodied in beautiful words, and this the others 
cannot do. But to pass from a commonplace person into 
one of originality must always be a great change, and this is 
what had now befallen the clerk. 

“What fragrant air!” he said; “it reminds me of Aunt 


The Goloshes of Fortune 321 

Magdalene’s violets ; ah ! that was when I was a little boy ! 
What an age it is since I thought about her, my good old 
aunt. She used to live there, behind the Exchange. She 
always had a few buds, or green shoots in water, however 
severe the winter might be. I used to smell the violets while 
I put the heated pennies on the frozen window panes to 
make peep holes. What a view that was; there were the 
ships frozen up in the canal deserted by the sailors, one 
cawing crow being the whole crew in charge. As soon as 
the fresh spring breezes returned, everything received new 
life. Amid songs and merriment the ice was sawn up, the 
ships were tarred and rigged, and then off they went to 
foreign parts. I have remained here, and always must 
remain, sitting at the office seeing other people taking their 
passports for foreign countries. Such is my lot ! ” he said, 
sighing deeply ; but suddenly he stopped. “ Good Heavens ! 
what is the matter with me? I have never felt like this 
before ! It must be the effect of the spring air, it gives me 
almost as much pain as pleasure ! ” He felt in his pockets 
for the papers. “ These will give me something else to think 
about,” he said, running his eyes over the first page. ‘“Dame 
Sigbrith,’ an original tragedy in five acts,” he read. “Why, 
what is this, yet it is in my own handwriting. Did I write 
this tragedy? ‘The Intrigue on the Ramparts,’ a comedy — 
where on earth did this come from, someone must have put 
it into my pocket ; here is a letter too ! ” It was from the 
manager of a theatre, the pieces were rejected, and the letter 
was anything but civil. “ Hum ! hum ! ” said the clerk, 
sitting down on a bench; his ideas were so fresh and his 
heart so softened. Mechanically he plucked a flower grow- 
ing near ; it was a simple little daisy, yet what botanists can 
only explain to us in several lectures, this little flower teaches 
us at once. She related the myth of her birth, she told him 
about the power of the sun, which unfolded her tender leaves, 
and drew forth her fragrance ; this made him reflect on the 
battle of Life, which in like manner rouses the slumbering 
feelings in our breasts. Light and air both woo the flower, 
but Light is the favoured lover, and to him she turns con- 
tinually; when Light disappears she shuts up her petals and 
sleeps in the safe guardianship of Air. “It is Light which 
makes me so beautiful,” said the flower. “But it is air 
which gives light!” whispered the poet’s voice. 

Close by stood a boy stirring up the mud in a ditch with 


322 The Goloshes of Fortune 

a stick ; the water splashed up into the green branches above. 
The clerk thought of the millions of invisible insects hurled 
up in the drops of water, and to whom such an evolution 
must have been as terrible as it would be for us to be whirled 
above the clouds. As these thoughts came into his head, 
and all the changes which had taken place in him, he smiled. 
“ I must be fast asleep and dreaming ! But how wonderful 
it is ! how naturally one dreams, knowing all the time that 
it is but a dream. If only I could remember when I wake 
all that I have been dreaming. I seem to be wonderfully 
clear headed just now ; I see everything plainly, but I am 
sure in the morning, if I have any recollection of my dreams 
at all, they will be nothing but nonsense. I have tried it 
before. All the clever and brilliant things one says and 
hears in dreams are like the gold of the underground gnomes ; 
rich and bright when it is given you, but see it by daylight, 
and you have nothing but stones and dead leaves. Alas ! ” 
he said, sighing sadly, as he looked at the little birds singing 
gaily and hopping from branch to branch. “ They are much 
better off than I am. Flying is a delightful accomplishment 
if you are born to it ! If I were to change into anything else 
it should be into a little lark like that ! ” 

At once the sleeves and tails of his coat stuck together 
and became wings, his clothes changed to feathers, and his 
goloshes to claws. He perceived the change at once, and 
laughed inwardly. “Now I am sure I am dreaming,” he 
said; “but such a stupid dream as this I have never had 
before.” He flew up among the branches with a song, but 
there was no poetry in it, for his poet’s nature was gone. 
The goloshes, like everyone who does anything thoroughly, 
could only do one thing at a time. The clerk wished to be 
a poet, and he became one ; now he wanted to be a little 
bird, and a bird he became ; but on becoming a bird he lost 
his previous characteristics. 

“ This is nice enough,” he said ; “ during the day I can 
sit at the office attending to the gravest matters, and at night 
I can dream that I am flying about like a lark in 
Frederiksborg gardens. What a capital farce it would make ! ” 
Then he flew down on to the grass, twisting and turning his 
head about among the waving stalks, which, in proportion 
to his present size, were as tall as the palms of Northern 
Africa. 

It was but for a few minutes ; all at once it grew as dark 


The Goloshes of Fortune 323 

as night around him ; a huge object, as it seemed to him, 
was thrown over him. It was a big cap with which a school- 
boy from Nyboder had covered him. A hand crept in and 
clutched the clerk by the back and wings, so tightly that he 
piped, and in his terror called out quite loud, “You im- 
pudent young puppy, I am a clerk in the police service ! ” 
but to the boy it only sounded like peep-peep, and he hit 
him on the beak and walked off with him. 

In the Avenue he met two schoolboys of the upper classes 
— in rank at least ; in learning they were amongst the lowest 
in the school. They bought the bird for a few pence, and 
in this way the clerk got back to Copenhagen, where he was 
taken to a house in Goth Street. 

“ It’s well that I’m only dreaming,” said the clerk, “or I 
should be in a fine rage ! First I was a poet, now I am a 
lark ! It was my poetical temperament which made me 
change into a bird ; but it’s a miserable business when one 
falls into the hands of boys. I should like to know what 
the end of it will be.” 

The boys took him into a very elegantly furnished room, 
where a stout, merry lady received them, but she was by no 
means pleased at their bringing in a common little field-bird, 
as she called the lark. She would let them keep it for 
to-day, she said, and they might put it in the empty cage 
near the window ; “ perhaps it would please Polly-parrot ! ” 
added she, laughing at a big green parrot which was swinging 
backwards and forwards in a stately manner in its gorgeous 
brass cage. “ It is Polly’s birthday,” she added, with 
affected gaiety, “so the little field-bird must come and 
congratulate ! ” 

Polly did not answer a word, but went on swinging. A 
pretty little canary in the next cage, which had been brought 
from its own warm fatherland, began singing loudly. 

“ Be quiet, screamer ! ” said the lady, throwing a hand- 
kerchief over the cage. 

“Peep-peep ! ” it sighed ; “what a fearful snow-storm.” 

The clerk, or, as the lady called him, the field-bird, was 
put into a little cage close to the canary and not far from 
the parrot. The only words the parrot could chatter, and 
which often came in oddly enough, were, “Now, let us be 
men ! ” All its other utterances were just as incomprehens- 
ible as the twittering of the canary, except to the clerk, who, 
being a bird himself, understood his companions perfectly. 


324 The Goloshes of Fortune 

“ I used to fly about under green palms and flowering 
almonds,” sang the canary. “I used to fly with my 
brothers and sisters among gorgeous flowers and over the 
glassy lake, where the plants at the bottom nodded to us. 
There were lots of bright parrots, who used to tell us the 
funniest stories in the world.” 

“They were wild birds,” answered the parrot; “they 
had no education. Now let us be men ! ” 

“ Do you remember the pretty girls dancing in the great 
outspread tent under the flowering trees ? Do you 
remember the luscious fruits and the cooling juice of the 
wild grapes ? ” 

“ Oh yes ! ” said the parrot ; “ but I’m far better off here ; 
I have good food, and I am treated with great consideration. 
I know how clever I am, and I desire nothing more. Now 
let us be men! You have a poet’s soul, as they call it; 
I have sound accomplishments and wit. You have genius, 
but no discretion ; you give yourself away by bursting out 
into those piercing notes of yours, and then they smother 
you. They never presume to cover me up, for I cost 
them so much; then I impress them with my beak, and 
confound them all with my wit ! wit ! wit ! Now let us 
be men ! ” 

“ Oh, my beloved, flowery fatherland ! ” sang the canary. 
“ I will pipe of your dark green trees, of your little bays, 
where the drooping branches kiss the waters. I will ever 
sing of the rejoicing of my brilliant brothers and sisters 
hovering over the cactus plants, ‘Wells of the desert,’ as 
they are called ! ” 

“ Oh, stop that lackadaisical strain ! ” said the parrot. 
“ Say something that one can laugh at. Laughter is a sign 
of the highest mental cultivation. Can a dog or a horse 
laugh? No, they can cry, but laughter is only given to 
mankind. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ” laughed the parrot, adding its 
usual phrase, “ Now let us be men ! ” 

“You little grey Danish bird,’’ said the canary, “they 
have made a captive of you too ! It must be cold in your 
woods, but still there is freedom in them. Fly away ! they 
have forgotten to fasten your cage, and the window is open 
at the top. Fly ! fly ! ” The clerk immediately hopped 
out of his cage. Just at that moment the half-open door 
to the next room creaked, and the cat crept stealthily in with 
green shining eyes, and gave chase. 


The Goloshes of Fortune 325 

The canary fluttered in its cage : the parrot flapped its 
wings and shouted, “Let us be men!” The clerk was 
terribly frightened, and flew off through the window, over 
the house-tops and over the streets ; at last he was obliged 
to take a little rest. 

There was something familiar about the opposite house ; 
there was an open window and he flew in, it was his own 
room, and he perched upon the table. 

“ Let us be men ! ” he said, without thinking of what he 
was saying, only repeating the parrot’s phrase mechanically ; 
at the same moment he became the clerk again, there he 
was sitting on the table. 

“ Good heavens ! ” said he, “ however did I get here 
sleeping on the table, and very disturbed dreams I’ve been 
having too ! Stupid nonsense the whole story ! ” 

CHAPTER VI 

THE LAST BEST GIFT OF THE GOLOSHES 

Next day in the early morning, while the clerk was still 
in bed, someone knocked at the door. It was his neigh- 
bour, the Divinity Student, who lived on the same floor, 
and now walked in. 

“Lend me your goloshes,” he said, “it’s so wet in the 
garden, but the sun is shining, and I want to smoke a 
pipe.” 

He put on the goloshes and went down into the garden, 
which possessed one apple and one pear tree. Even that 
was a great treasure in the heart of the town. 

The student walked up and down the path, it was only 
six o’clock ; a post horn sounded in the street. 

“ Oh, to travel, to travel ! surely it is the most delightful 
thing in the world. It is the great desire of my heart ! If 
I could travel, this restlessness which comes over me would 
be quieted. But it must be far away ! I should like to see 
beautiful Switzerland, travel in Italy, and ” 

It was a good thing that the goloshes began to have an 
effect at once, or he would have travelled about too much 
either for himself or for us. Well, he travelled. He was 
in the heart of Switzerland, but packed into a diligence 
with eight other people. He had a headache and a crick 
in his neck, his legs were swollen from sitting so long, and 


326 The Goloshes of Fortune 

his boots pinched him. He was half asleep and half awake. 
He had a letter of credit in his right hand pocket, and his 
passport in the left, and a little leather purse with some 
Louis-d’Ors sewn up in it in his breast-pocket. Every time 
he dropped off, he dreamt that one or other of these was 
lost, and he started up in feverish haste ; the first movement 
of his hand was a triangle from right to left, and up to his 
breast, to feel if they were still there. Umbrellas, sticks and 
hats swayed about in the net above their heads, and con- 
siderably impaired the view, which was grand in the extreme. 
He stole glances at it while his heart sang jubilantly, words 
which we know at least one other poet has sung, but which 
have not up to the present time been printed. 

The landscape was stupendous, dark and solemn. The 
pinewoods looked like mere heather on the high mountains, 
whose summits were lost in wreaths of mist. Soon it began 
to snow, and a piercing wind sprang up. 

“ Oh ! ” he shuddered, “ if only we were on the other side 
of the Alps, it would be summer, and I should have got 
some money on my letter of credit, the fear of losing it 
spoils all my pleasure in Switzerland ! Oh ! if only I were 
on the other side.” 

And there he was on the other side, far in the interior of 
Italy between Florence and Rome. The lake of Thrasy- 
mene lay before him like a flaming sheet of gold, amidst 
the dark blue mountains. Here, where Hannibal defeated 
Flaminius, the vines now entwined their graceful tendrils ; 
charming half-naked children guarded a flock of coal-black 
pigs among a group of scented laurels by the wayside. If 
we could paint this picture so as to do it justice, everyone 
who saw it would rejoice over “ beautiful Italy ! ” but neither 
the student nor any of his companions in the carriage would 
have said it. 

Thousands of poisonous flies and gnats swarmed around 
them, and in vain they attempted to drive them out with 
myrtle branches ; they bit all the same. Not a man in the 
carriage but his face was swollen and disfigured from the 
bites. The poor horses looked like carrion, the flies 
settled in masses upon them ; they only had a moment's 
relief, when the driver got down and scraped them off. 
When the sun went down, a sharp wind whistled round, 
which was anything but pleasant, but a beautiful green 
light rested on mountains and clouds — you must go and see 


The Goloshes of Fortune 327 

it thoroughly to appreciate it. It was wonderful ! The 
travellers thought so too, only — their stomachs were empty, 
their limbs weary, and all their thoughts turned towards 
quarters for the night. But where were these? They 
looked much more anxiously for an inn than at the beauti- 
ful view. 

Their road ran through an olive wood, just as at home it 
might have wound through stunted willows ; here lay the 
solitary inn. Half a score of crippled beggars were en- 
camped outside, the best of whom looked like “ Famine’s ” 
eldest son, “Snarley-yow,” in Captain Marryat’s “Dog- 
fiend.” The others were either blind, or had withered feet 
and crept on their hands, or contracted arms and fingerless 
hands. It was indeed misery in rags. 

“ Eccellenza, miserabili,” they moaned, stretching out 
their maimed limbs. The hostess herself had bare feet, 
uncombed hair, and was clad in a dirty blouse. The doors 
were tied up with string, the floors consisted of half uprooted 
cobble stones, bats flew about under the ceiling, and the 
odour 

“ It would be as well if we had the supper served in the 
stable,” said one of the travellers ; “thereat least one knows 
what the air is one breathes.” 

The windows were opened to let in a little fresh air, 
but quicker than the air, in came the withered arms and the 
everlasting whines, “ Miserabili, Eccellenza.” There were 
many inscriptions on the walls, many of them uncompli- 
mentary to “ La bella Italia.” 

The dinner was brought; it consisted of water soup 
flavoured with pepper and rancid oil. The same oil figured 
in the salad ; stale eggs and roasted cockscombs were the 
grandest dishes, even the wine had a disagreeable taste ; it 
was a nauseous mixture. 

At night the boxes were piled against the door, and one 
of the travellers kept watch while the others slept. The 
student had the first watch. Oh ! how close it was ! The 
heat was oppressive, the gnats stung, and the miserabili 
outside whined in their sleep. 

“ Travelling would be well enough,” sighed the traveller, 
“if one had no body. If it could rest and the spirit 
soar alone. Wherever I go there is always something 
wanting which oppresses the heart, something better than 
the present, and that I must have. Something better, the 

Y 


328 The Goloshes of Fortune 

best of all, but where, and what is it ? I know very well 
what I want. I want to reach a happy goal, the happiest 
of all ! ” 

As the words escaped his lips, he found himself back at 
home ; long white curtains hung before the windows, and 
a coffin stood in the middle of the floor, and he himself lay 
in it, in the quiet sleep of death. His wish was fulfilled, his 
body was at rest, and his spirit free. “ Call no man happy 
before he is in his grave,” were Solon’s words, which here 
received a fresh confirmation. 

Every corpse is an enigma to Immortality, neither could 
this sphinx before us answer the question which the living 
man had written down two days before — 

“ Strong Death, thy very silence wakes our dread, 

As to the grave our wandering steps are led. 

Shall now my soul up Jacob’s ladder pass 

Into Death’s garden, there but to spring as grass ? 

Our greatest suffering oft the world sees not. 

O Thou ! to whom fell sad and lonely lot, 

Thou knowst, that heavier are our woes passed by, 

Than all the earth that on our graves doth lie.” 

Two figures were moving about in the room ; we know 
them both. They were Sorrow, and Fortune’s handmaid ; 
they bent over the dead man. 

“Seest thou now,” said Sorrow, “what sort of happiness 
thy goloshes brought to mankind ! ” 

“ They at least brought him who sleeps here, good of a 
lasting kind,” answered Joy. 

“ Oh, no ! ” said Sorrow ; “ he went of his own accord ; 
he was not called away I His spiritual powers were not 
given strength enough to accomplish the task which had 
been set him. I will do him a true kindness ! ” saying 
which she took off the goloshes ; the sleep of death was over 
— the dead man rose to life again with renewed strength. 

Sorrow vanished, taking with her the goloshes; she 
seemed to look upon them as her property. 


The Bronze Boar 


In the town of Florence, not far from the Piazza del 
Granduca, runs a little cross street, I think it is called 
Porta Rossa. In front of a kind of market in this street, 
where green stuff is sold, stands a skilfully worked bronze 
boar. A stream of fresh clear water gushes out of its 
mouth; it has turned dark green from age, only its snout 
shines as if it had been polished; and so it has by the 
many hundreds of children and poor people who take hold 
of it with their hands and put their mouths to its mouth 
to drink the water. It is a picture in itself to see the 
well-formed animal embraced by a handsome half-naked 
boy putting his fresh lips to its snout. 

Most people who go to Florence find the place ; one only 
has to ask the first beggar one sees about the bronze boar 
and he will find it. 

It was late on a winter evening; the mountains were 
covered with snow, but it was moonlight, and the moon 
in Italy gives a light which is as good as that of a dark 
winter’s day in the north. Nay, it is better, for the clear 
air seems to raise us above the earth, while in the north 
the cold, grey, leaden clouds press us to the ground — the 
cold, wet ground which one day will press upon our coffins. 

Along in the ducal gardens, under the shelter of the stone 
pines, where thousands of roses bloom in the winter, a little 
ragged boy had been sitting all day. A boy who might 
have stood for typical Italy ; he was so handsome, so merry, 
and yet so suffering. He was hungry and thirsty, but no 
one gave him a copper, and when it got dark and the 
gardens were to be closed the porter drove him away. He 
stood for a long time dreaming on the bridge over the 
Amo, looking at the glittering stars reflected in the water 
beneath the stately marble bridge. He took the road to the 
bronze boar, knelt before it, threw his arms round its neck, 
put his little mouth to its shining snout and drank great 

329 


33° The Bronze Boar 

draughts of the fresh water. Close by lay a few salad leaves 
and some chestnuts, and these were his supper. There was 
not a creature in the street ; he was quite alone, he got on 
to the boar’s back, leant forward so that his little curly head 
rested on the animal’s head, and before he knew what he 
was about he fell fast asleep. 

It was midnight, the bronze boar moved. He heard it 
say quite plainly, “ Hold tight, for I am going to run off, 
you little boy ! ” Then off it ran with him. What an odd 
ride that was ! First they came to the Piazza del Granduca, 
and the bronze horse which carried the duke’s statue, 
neighed aloud. The many-coloured coats of arms on the 
old Town Hall shone like transparent pictures, and Michael 
Angelo’s David slung his sling ; it was a curious mixture of 
life ! The bronze groups of Perseus, and of the Rape of 
the Sabines, were only too much alive ; a death shriek from 
them resounded through the stately, solitary Piazza. The 
bronze boar stopped by the Uffizi palace under the colonnade 
where the nobles assemble during Lent for the carnival. 

“ Hold tight,” said the animal, “hold tight, for now I am 
going up the stairs.” 

The little fellow had not yet said a word, he was half 
frightened, half delighted. They stepped into a long gallery, 
he knew it well, he had been there before. The walls were 
crowded with pictures, and the statues and busts were all in 
as bright a light as if it were day ; but the most splendid 
sight of all, was when the door to one of the adjoining rooms 
was opened. The little boy remembered the splendours 
here, but to-night everything was positively magnificent. 

Here stood the statue of a woman, as beautiful as only 
the costliest marble and the master hand of the sculptor 
could make her ; she moved her lovely limbs, dolphins 
sprang at her feet, and immortality shone from her eyes. 
She is known to the world as the Venus de Medici. Marble 
statues of splendid men were grouped around her ; one of 
them was whetting his sword, he is called the Grinder. 
The next group was the Wrestling Gladiators ; the sword 
was whetted, and the giants struggled for the goddess of 
beauty. 

The boy was dazzled by the glitter; the walls were radiant 
with colour, and everything there was full of life and move- 
ment. The picture of Venus, the earthly Venus with her 
rounded limbs and glowing with life as Titian saw her, 


The Bronze Boar 331 

shone out in redoubled splendour. Near her the portraits 
of two beautiful women, stretched upon soft cushions, with 
heaving bosoms and luxuriant locks falling over their 
rounded shoulders, while their dark eyes betrayed their 
burning thoughts; but none of all these pictures ventured 
quite out of their frames. The goddess of beauty herself, 
the Gladiators and the Grinder remained in their places, 
subdued by the halo round the Madonna, with the infant 
Jesus and St John. The sacred pictures were no longer 
pictures, they were the saints themselves. 

What brilliance and what beauty as they passed from 
gallery to gallery ! the little boy saw them all ; the bronze 
boar went slowly through all the glories. One sight crowded 
out the previous one ; one picture only really took hold of 
his thoughts, and that chiefly because of the happy children 
in it ; once by daylight the little boy had nodded to them. 

Many probably pass this picture lightly, and yet it contains 
a treasury of poetry ; it is a Christ descending to the nether 
regions, but He is not surrounded by souls in torment, no, 
these are the heathen. The picture is by the Florentine 
Angiolo Bronzino; most beautiful is the expression of the 
children’s faces in their certainty that they are going to 
heaven. Two little creatures are already embracing each 
other, one little one stretches out a hand to a companion 
below, pointing to himself as much as to say, “ I am going 
to heaven ! ” All the older people stand round doubting, or 
hoping, or bending humbly before the Saviour. The boy 
looked longer at this picture than at any of the others ; the 
bronze boar stood still before it, a gentle sigh was heard. 
Did it come from the picture, or from the animal’s breast ? 
The boy held out his hand towards the smiling children; 
then the animal tore off with him, tore away through the 
open gallery. 

“ Thank you, thank you, you beautiful animal ! ” said the 
little boy patting the boar, which went bump, bump, down 
the stairs with him. 

“ Thank you ! ” said the bronze boar. “ I have helped 
you, and you have helped me, because I only get strength 
to run when I have an innocent child on my back ! Nay, 
I dare even step under the rays of the lamp before the 
Madonna. I can carry you anywhere except into a church, 
but when you are with me I can stand outside and look in 
at the open door! Don’t get down off my back, if you do 


332 The Bronze Boar 

that I shall be dead, just as you see me in the daytime in 
the Porta Rossa ! ” 

“ I will stay with you, my beloved creature,” said the 
little boy, and then they rushed at a furious pace through 
the streets of Florence to the Piazza before the church of 
Santa Croce. The folding doors flew open, and the lights 
on the altar streamed through the church, and out into the 
solitary Piazza. 

There was a wonderful blaze of light from a sculptured 
tomb in the left aisle ; thousands of twinkling stars formed 
a kind of halo round it. The tomb was surmounted by a 
coat of arms, a red ladder gleaming like a flame of fire on a 
blue field. It was the grave of Galileo. It is a simple 
monument ; the red ladder might be emblematic of Art, 
signifying that the way to fame is always upwards on a 
flaming ladder. All genius soars to heaven like Elias 
of old. 

In the right aisle of the church, every statue on the costly 
sarcophagi seemed endowed with life. Here stood Michael 
Angelo, there Dante, with a wreath of laurel round his 
brows ; Alfieri, Machiavelli, these great men rest side by 
side — the pride of Italy. It is a very beautiful church, far 
more beautiful, if not so large as the marble Cathedral of 
Florence. 

The marble garments appeared to move, as if their great 
wearers once again raised their heads, and looked towards 
the glowing altar with its many lights, where the white 
robed boys swung their golden censers, amid song and 
music, while the fragrance of the incense filled the church, 
and streamed out into the Piazza. 

The boy stretched out his hands towards the light, but at 
the same moment the bronze boar rushed on again, and he 
had to clutch it tightly. The wind whistled in his ears, he 
heard the church doors creak on their hinges as they were 
shut, he seemed to lose consciousness, and felt a rush of icy 
air — and then he opened his eyes. 

It was morning ; he had half slipped off the bronze boar, 
which stood in its usual place in the Porta Rossa. Fear 
and trembling seized the lad as he thought of the woman he 
called his mother. She had sent him out yesterday to get 
money, and he had got none. He was hungry and thirsty, 
and again he flung his arms round the boar’s neck, kissed its 
snout, nodded to it, and walked off to one of the narrowest 


The Bronze Boar 333 

streets, only wide enough for a well-laden ass. A big iron- 
studded door stood half open ; he went in here, and up 
some stone steps by a dirty wall with a greasy rope for a 
hand-rail, till he reached an open gallery hung with rags. 
A flight of steps led into a courtyard where there was a 
fountain ; the water was drawn up from the fountain to the 
different floors by means of a thick iron wire, where the 
buckets hung side by side. Sometimes the pulley jerked 
the buckets and splashed the water all over the court. 
Another broken-down staircase led still higher up, and two 
Russian sailors running down almost upset the boy. They 
were coming from their nightly carousals. A strongly-built 
woman, no longer young, with thick black hair, followed 
them. 

“ What have you brought home ? ” she asked the boy. 

“ Don’t be angry ! ” he pleaded, taking hold of her dress 
as if to kiss it. “ I’ve got nothing, nothing at all.” 

They passed on into a little room. I need not describe 
it, but only say that in it stood an earthen pot with handles 
for holding fire, called a “ marito.” She hung this on her 
arm, warmed her fingers, and pushed the boy with her 
elbow. 

“ You must have got some money,” she said. 

The boy began to cry, and then she kicked him, making 
him cry out loud. 

“ Will you be quiet ? or I’ll break your screaming head ! ” 
and she swung the pot at him. The boy ducked his head 
and shrieked. 

Then a neighbour came in, and she also had her marito 
on her arm. 

“What are you doing to the child, Felicita?” she said. 

“ The child is my own,” answered Felicita, “ and I can 
murder him if I like, and you too, Gianina !” 

Then she swung the fire-pot again. The other woman 
raised hers to parry it, and the two pots clashed together, 
smashing them to atoms and scattering fire and ash all over 
the room. 

The boy seized the opportunity to escape ; he rushed 
across the courtyard and out of the gate. The poor child 
ran till he had no breath l£ft. At last he stopped by the 
church of Santa Croce, whose great doors had opened to 
him last night. He went in; everything here was bright, 
He knelt down by the first tomb. It was Michael Angelo’s, 


334 The Bronze Boar 

and very soon he sobbed as if his heart would break. 
People came and went, mass was celebrated, nobody took 
any notice of him, but an old citizen, who stopped and 
looked at him for a moment, and then passed on like the 
rest. The poor child was quite overpowered by hunger 
and thirst ; he became faint and ill. After a time he 
crept into a corner behind the monuments and fell asleep. 
Towards evening he was awakened by someone shaking 
him. He started up, and saw the same old citizen standing 
before him. 

“ Are you ill? Where is your home? Have you been 
here all day ? ” were some of the questions asked by the old 
man. 

After hearing what he had to say, the old man took him 
with him to a little house in a side street near. It was a 
glovemaker’s, and a woman was sitting busily at work when 
they entered. A little white poodle, so closely clipped that 
the pink skin shone through, jumped upon the table and 
sprang towards the little boy. 

“ The innocents soon make friends with each other ! >; 
said the woman, patting both the dog and the boy. 

The good people fed him, and said he should stay the 
night. Next day old Father Giuseppe would go and speak 
to his mother. He only had a homely little bed, but it was 
regal to him, who so often slept upon the hard stones, and 
he slept sweetly and dreamt about the pictures and the 
bronze boar. 

Father Giuseppe went out early next morning, and the 
poor boy was not glad to see him go, for he knew that he 
had gone to his mother, and that he might have to go back. 
He cried at the thought, and kissed the lively little dog ; 
the woman nodded to them both. 

What did Father Giuseppe say when he came back ? He 
talked to his wife for a long time, and she nodded and 
patted the boy. 

“ He’s a beautiful child ! ” she said ; “ what a clever glove- 
maker he will be, just like you ; see what fingers he has, 
they’re so delicate and flexible ! Madonna intended him to 
be a glovemaker ! ” So the little boy stayed in the house, 
and the woman taught him to sew ; he had plenty to eat, 
and got plenty of sleep. He grew quite merry and at last 
began to tease Bellissima, as the little dog was called. 
This made the woman angry, she scolded him and shook 


The Bronze Boar 335 

hei finger at him, so he went sadly to his own room. It 
faced the street, and the skins were hung up in it to dry ; 
there were thick iron bars across the windows. That night 
he could not sleep, his head was full of the bronze boar. 
Suddenly he heard “scramble, scramble,” outside, could it 
be the boar? He rushed to the window, but there was 
nothing to be seen. 

“ Help the Signor to carry his box of colours,” said his 
mistress in the morning, as their neighbour, a young artist, 
came down carrying his colour box as well as a huge roll of 
canvas. The child took the box, and followed the painter. 
They took the road to the picture gallery and mounted the 
same stairs which he remembered so well, from the night 
when he rode the bronze boar. He remembered all the 
statues and the pictures ,the beautiful marble Venus, and 
the painted ones too. Again he looked at the Madonna, 
with the infant Jesus, and St John. They stopped before 
the picture by Bronzino, where Christ is represented as 
standing in the under world, with the children smiling 
around Him, in their certainty of entering heaven. The 
poor boy smiled too, for he was in his heaven. 

“ Now you may go home,” said the painter to him, when 
he had put up his easel. 

“ Might I stay to see the Signor paint ? ” said the boy ; 
“might I see you put the picture on this canvas?” 

“ I’m not painting yet,” said the artist, taking out a piece 
of charcoal. His hand moved quickly and his eye rapidly 
took the measures of the great picture; though he only 
made a few light strokes, there stood the figure of the 
Saviour, as in the painting. 

“ Why don’t you go ! ” said the painter. 

Then the boy wandered dreamily home again, sat down 
on the table — and learnt to make gloves. 

His thoughts were all day in the gallery, and therefore he 
was clumsy and pricked his fingers ; but he did not tease 
Bellissima. In the evening when he found the house door 
open, he crept out; it was cold, bright starlight, and very 
clear. He wandered away through the quiet streets, and 
soon found himself before the bronze boar ; he bent over 
it, kissed its shining snout, and then seated himself upon its 
back. 

“You beloved creature!” he said, “how I have been 
longing for you ! we must have another ride to-night ! But 


336 The Bronze Boar 

the boar remained motionless. The little boy still sat 
astride of it, when he felt something pull his clothes. He 
looked down and saw the little naked, clipped Bellissima. 
The little dog had followed him, without having been 
noticed by anyone. Bellissima barked, as much as to say 
“ do you see I am here ? what are you sitting up there for ? ” 

A fiery dragon could not have frightened the boy more 
than the little dog at that place. “ Bellissima in the street 
and not dressed ! ” as the old lady called it, “ what would be 
the end of it ? ” 

The dog never went out in the winter without a little 
sheepskin coat, which had been made for it. It was fastened 
round the neck and body with a red ribbon, and decorated 
with little red bows and jingling bells. It almost looked like 
a little kid when it went out in the winter, tripping after its 
mistress. Now here was Bellissima in the cold without 
her coat ; what would be the consequences ? All his 
fancies were quickly put to flight, yet he stopped to kiss the 
boar before getting down, and then he took the shivering 
little dog in his arms. Oh how cold she was, the boy ran 
off with her as fast as he could. 

“ What are you running off with there ? ” shouted two 
policemen he met, and Bellissima barked. “ Where did you 
steal that pretty dog ? ” they asked, and took it away from 
him. 

“ Oh, give it back to me ! ” cried the boy. 

“ If you didn’t steal it, you can tell them at home that it 
can be fetched from the police station,” and off they walked 
with Bellissima. 

This was a terrible business. He did not know whether 
he had better jump into the river or go home and confess 
everything. They would certainly kill him, he thought. 
“ But I would gladly be killed ; then I should go to 
heaven.” So he hurried home almost hoping to be killed. 

The door was fastened, and he could not reach the 
knocker. There was no one in the street, so he took a stone 
and hammered at the door with it. 

“ Who is there? ” said someone inside. 

“ It is I,” he said. “ Bellissima is lost ; let me in and 
kill me!” 

Then, indeed, there was an uproar, his mistress was so 
very fond of Bellissima ; she looked at the wall where his 
coat ought to hang, and there it was, in its proper place. 


The Bronze Boar 337 

“ Bellissima at the police station ! ” she cried ; “ you bad 
child ! Why did you take him out ! he will die of cold ! 
That delicate little animal among all those rough men ! ” 

Father Giuseppe had to go off at once, his wife scolded, 
and the boy cried; everybody in the house came to see 
what was the matter, among them the painter. He took the 
boy on his knee and questioned him ; bit by bit he got out 
the whole story about the bronze boar and the picture 
gallery. It was rather difficult to understand; but the 
painter comforted the child and talked over the woman, 
but she would not be happy till Giuseppe came back with 
Bellissima, who had been in the hands of the police. Then 
there was great rejoicing, and the painter patted the boy on 
the head, and gave him a few pictures. 

Oh, what splendid pictures they were ! comical heads ; 
and above all the bronze boar himself. Oh, nothing could 
be more delightful. It was sketched in a few strokes, and 
even the house behind it appeared too. 

“ Oh, if one could only draw and paint ! one would have 
the whole world before one.” 

Next day, in his first quiet moment, the little fellow got a 
pencil and tried to copy the drawing of the bronze boar, and 
he succeeded too ! it was a little crooked, a little on one side, 
one leg thick and another leg thin, still it was like the copy, 
and he was delighted. Only the pencil would not go as 
straight as he meant it to go. The next day another boar 
stood beside the first one, and this one was a hundred times 
better ; the third one was so good that anyone could see 
what it was meant for. 

But the glovemaking went on badly ; he did the errands 
very slowly; he had learnt from the bronze boar that 
any picture might be put on paper, and the town of 
Florence is a complete picture-book, if you only turn over 
the leaves. 

On the Piazza della Trinitk stands a slender column, and 
upon it stands Justice blindfolded with the scales in her 
hand. She was also soon put upon paper by the glove- 
maker’s little apprentice. His collection grew, but as yet 
they were only copies of inanimate objects, when one day 
Bellissima came hopping towards him. “Stand still!” he 
said. “ I will make a beautiful portrait of you to put 
among my pictures ! ” But Bellissima would not stand still, 
so he had to tie her up. He tied her by the head and tail, 


338 The Bronze Boar 

and she did not like it, and barked and jumped about and 
strained at the cord ; just then her mistress came in. 

“ You wicked boy ! the poor animal ! ” was all she had 
time to say. She pushed the boy aside, kicked him, and 
turned him out of the house ; and called him an ungrateful, 
good-for-nothing, wicked boy. She almost smothered 
Bellissima with her kisses and tears. 

At this moment the painter came up the stairs, and — this 
is the turning point of the story. 

In 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts 
at Florence. Two pictures hung side by side attracted 
much attention from the spectators. In the smaller of the 
two a merry little boy sat at a table drawing ; his model was 
a closely clipped, little white poodle ; as the animal would 
not stand, it was tied up by the head and tail with string. 
The whole picture was so full of life and truth to nature that 
it could not fail to interest all who looked at it. The story 
went that the painter was a young Florentine, who had been 
found in the streets and brought up by an old glovemaker ; 
and that he had taught himself to draw. A now celebrated 
artist discovered his talent at a time when he was about to 
be turned out of the glovemaker’s house for having tied up 
his mistress’s favourite, the little poodle, when he wanted a 
model. The glovemaker’s apprentice had become a great 
painter, as the picture plainly proved. The larger picture 
was an even greater proof of his talent. There was only a 
single figure in it, that of a handsome ragged boy, fast 
asleep, leaning against the bronze boar of the Via Porta 
Rossa. All the spectators knew the spot well. The child’s 
arm rested on the boar’s head, and he slept sweetly ; the 
lamp in front of the Madonna near threw a strong light on 
the child’s pale, beautiful face. It was indeed a beautiful 
picture. A handsome gilt frame surrounded it, and a wreath 
of laurel was hung on one corner of it ; but a black ribbon 
was entwined among the leaves, and long black streamers 
hung down from it. The young painter was just — dead ! 


The Bell 


Tn the evening, at sunset, when glimpses of golden clouds 
could just be seen among the chimney pots, a curious sound 
would be heard, first by one person, then by another; it 
was like a church bell, but it only lasted a moment because 
of the rumble of vehicles and the street cries. 

“There is the evening bell,” people would say; “the sun 
is setting.” 

Those who went outside the town where the houses were 
more scattered, each with its garden or little meadow, saw 
the evening star and heard the tones of the bell much better. 
It seemed as if the sound came from a church buried in 
silent, fragrant woods, and people looked in that direction, 
feeling quite solemn. 

Time passed, and still people said one to the other, “can 
there be a church in the woods ! that bell has such a wonder- 
fully sweet sound ; shall we go and look at it closer.” The 
rich people drove and the poor ones walked, but it was a 
very long way ; when they reached a group of willows which 
grew on the outskirts of the wood, they sat down and looked 
up among the long branches, thinking that they were really 
in the heart of the forest. A confectioner from the town 
came out and pitched a tent there, and then another con- 
fectioner, and he hung a bell up over his tent. This bell 
was tarred so as to stand the rain, and the clapper was want- 
ing. When people went home again they said it had been 
so romantic, and that meant something beyond mere tea. 
Three persons protested that they had penetrated right 
through the forest to the other side, and that they had 
heard the same curious bell all the time, but that then it 
sounded as if it came from the town. 

One of them wrote a poem about it, and said that it 
sounded like a mother’s voice to a beloved child, no melody 
could be sweeter that the chimes of this bell. 

The Emperor’s attention was also drawn to it, and he pro- 

339 


340 The Bell 

mised that anyone who really discovered where the sound 
came from should receive the title of “the world’s bell-ringer,” 
even if there were no bell at all. 

A great many people went to the woods for the sake of 
earning an honest penny, but only one of them brought 
home any kind of explanation. No one had been far enough, 
not even he himself, but he said that the sound of the bell 
came from a very big owl in a hollow tree; it was a wise 
owl, which perpetually beat its head against a tree, but 
whether the sound came from its head or from the hollow 
tree he could not say with any certainty. All the same he 
was appointed “ world’s bell-ringer,” and every year he wrote 
a little treatise on the owl, but nobody was much the wiser 
for it. 

Now on a certain Confirmation day the priest had preached 
a very moving sermon, all the young people about to be 
confirmed had been much touched by it ; it was a very im- 
portant day for them. They were leaving childhood behind 
and becoming grown-up persons, the child’s soul was, as it 
were, to be transformed into that of a responsible being. It 
was a beautiful sunny day and after the Confirmation the 
young people walked out of the town and they heard the 
sound of the unknown bell more than usually loud coming 
from the wood. On hearing it they all felt anxious to go 
further and see it ; all except three. The first of these had 
to go home to try on her ball-dress ; it was this very dress 
and this very ball which were the reason of her having being 
confirmed this time ; otherwise it would have been put off. 
The second was a poor boy, who had borrowed his tail-coat 
and boots of the landlord’s son and he had to return them 
at the appointed time. The third said that he had never 
been anywhere without his parents, that he had always been 
a good child and he meant to continue so, although he was 
confirmed ; nobody ought to have made fun of this resolve ; 
but he did not escape being laughed at. 

So these three did not go ; the others trudged off. The 
sun shone and the birds sang and the newly-confirmed young 
people took each other by the hand and sang with them ; 
they had not yet received any position in life, they were all 
equal in the eye of the Lord on the day of their Confirma- 
tion. Soon two of the smallest ones got tired and they 
returned to town; two little girls sat down and made 
wreaths, so they did not go either. When the others 


The Bell 341 

reached the willows where the confectioners had their tents, 
they said, “Now, then, here we are; the bell doesn’t exist, 
it is only something people imagine ! ” 

Just then the bell was heard in the wood, with its deep 



rich notes; and four or five of them decided after all to 
penetrate further into the wood. The underwood was so 
thick and close that it was quite difficult to advance. The 
woodruff grew almost too high, convolvulus and brambles 
hung in long garlands from tree to tree, where the nightin- 
gales sang and the sunbeams played. It was deliciously 
peaceful, but there was no path for the girls, their clothes 



342 The Bell 

would have been torn to shreds. There were great boulders 
over-grown with many-coloured mosses, and fresh springs 
trickled among them with a curious little gurgling sound. 

“ Surely that cannot be the bell ! ” said one of the young 
people, as he lay down to listen. 

“ This must be thoroughly looked into.” So he stayed 
behind and let the others go on. 

They came to a little hut made of bark, and branches 
overhung by a crab-apple, as if it wanted to shake all its 
bloom over the roof, which was covered with roses. The 
long sprays clustered round the gable, and on it hung a 
little bell. Could this be the one they sought? Yes, they 
were all agreed that it must be, except one ; he said it was 
far too small and delicate to be heard so far away as they 
had heard it, and that the tones which moved all hearts 
were quite different from these. He who spoke was a king’s 
son, and so the others said “ that kind of fellow must always 
be wiser than anyone else.” 

So they let him go on alone, and as he went he was more 
and more overcome by the solitude of the wood ; but he 
still heard the little bell with which the others were so 
pleased, and now and then when the wind came from 
the direction of the confectioners he could hear demands 
for tea. 

But the deep-toned bell sounded above them all, and it 
seemed as if there was an organ playing with it, and the 
sounds came from the left, where the heart is placed. 

There was a rustling among the bushes, and a little boy 
stood before the king’s son ; he had wooden shoes on, and 
such a small jacket that the sleeves did not cover his wrists. 
They knew each other, for he was the boy who had had to 
go back to return the coat and the boots to the landlord’s 
son. He had done this, changed back into his shabby 
clothes and wooden shoes, and then, drawn by the deep 
notes of the bell, had returned to the wood again. 

“ Then we can go together,” said the king’s son. 

But the poor boy in the wooden shoes was too bashful. 
He pulled down his short sleeves, and said he was afraid he 
could not walk quickly enough, besides which he thought 
the bell ought to be looked for on the right, because that 
side looked the most beautiful. 

“ Then we shan’t meet at all,” said the king’s son, nodding 
to the poor boy, who went into the thickest and darkest 


The Bell 343 

part of the wood, where the thorns tore his shabby clothes 
and scratched his face, hands and feet till they bled. The 
king’s son got some good scratches too, but he at least had 
the sun shining upon his path. We are going to follow him, 
for he is a bright fellow. 

“ I must and will find the bell,” said he, “ if I have to go 
to the end of the world.” 

Some horrid monkeys sat up in the trees grinning and 
showing their teeth. 

“Shall we pelt him?” said they. “Shall we thrash him;, 
he is a king’s son.” 

But he went confidently on further and further into the 
wood, where the most extraordinary flowers grew. There 
were white star-like lilies with blood-red stamens, pale blue 
tulips which glistened in the sun, and apple-trees on which 
the apples looked like great shining soap-bubbles. You 
may fancy how these trees glittered in the sun. Round 
about were beautiful green meadows, where stags and hinds 
gambolled under the spreading oaks and beeches. Mosses 
and creepers grew in the fissures where the bark of the trees 
was broken away. There were also great glades with quiet 
lakes, where white swans swam about flapping their wings. 
The king’s son often stopped and listened, for he sometimes 
fancied that the bell sounded from one of these lakes ; but 
then again he felt sure that it was not there, but further in 
the wood. 

Now the sun began to go down, and the clouds were fiery 
red ; a great stillness came over the wood, and he sank upon 
his knees, sang his evening psalm, and said, “Never shall I 
find what I seek, now the sun is going down, the night is 
coming on — the dark night; perhaps I could catch one 
more glimpse of the round, red sun before it sinks beneath 
the earth. I will climb up on to those rocks ; they are as 
high as the trees.” 

He seized the roots and creepers, and climbed up the 
slippery stones where the water-snakes wriggled and the 
toads seemed to croak at him ; but he reached the top 
before the sun disappeared. Seen from this height, oh ! 
what splendour lay before him ! The ocean, the wide, 
beautiful ocean, its long waves rolling towards the shore. 
The sun still stood like a great shining altar, out there 
where sea and sky met. Everything melted away into 
glowing colours; the wood sang, the ocean sang, and his 
z 


344 The Bell 

heart sang with them. All Nature was like a vast holy- 
temple, where trees and floating clouds were the pillars, 
flowers and grass the woven tapestry, and the heaven itself 
a great dome. The red colours vanished as the sun went 
down, but millions of stars peeped out; they were like 
countless diamond lamps, and the king’s son spread out his 
arms towards heaven, sea and forest. At that moment, 
from the right-hand path came the poor boy with the short 
sleeves and wooden shoes. He had reached the same goal 
just as soon by his own road. They ran towards each 
other, and clasped each other’s hands in that great temple 
of Nature and Poetry, and above them sounded the invisible 
holy bell ; happy spirits floated round it to the strains of a 
joyous Hallelujah. 


Old Lukoie, the Dustman 

There is nobody in all the world who can tell so many 
stories as Ole Lukoie ! And such stories as he can tell ! 

When night is drawing on, and the children are sitting 
round the table as good as possible or on their little foot- 
stools, in walks Ole Shut-eyes. He comes so quietly up the 
stairs without his shoes, and opens the door so softly that 
nobody hears him; and, puff! he sends a shower of milk 
into their eyes in such fine spray as to be invisible; but 
they can’t keep their eyes open after it, and so they never 
see him. He steals behind them and breathes upon their 
necks, making their heads as heavy as lead ; but he never 

1 hurts them ; he does it all from kindness to the children. 
He only wants them to be quiet, and the best way to make 
them quiet is to have them in bed ; when they are settled 
there, he can tell them his stories. 

Then as soon as the children are asleep, Ole Lukoie seats 
himself upon their beds. He is well dressed; his clothes 
: are all of silk, but it is impossible to say what colour they 
are, for it shimmers green, red and blue every time he 
j turns. He has an umbrella under his arm, one with 
i pictures on it, and this he holds over the good children, and 
■ then they dream the most delightful stories all night long. 
The other umbrella has no pictures on it, and he holds this 
one over the children who have been naughty, and then they 
sleep heavily till the morning and have no dreams at all. 

I am now going to tell you about a little boy to whom 
Ole Lukoie went every night for a whole week. His name 
was Hialmar. There are just seven stories, because there 
are seven days in a week. 

MONDAY 

“ Now, just listen ! ” said Ole Lukoie, in the evening, when 
| he had got Hialmar to bed. “ First I will smarten things 

345 


346 Old Lukoid, the Dustman 

up a bit,” and then all the plants in pots became big trees, 
with their branches stretching right up to the ceiling and 
along the walls, so that the room looked like a delightful 
arbour. The branches were covered with flowers, and the 
flowers were more beautiful than roses ; they had the most 
delightful scent, and, if you tried to eat them, were more 
delicious than the very nicest jam. The fruit shone like 
gold, and then there were buns bursting with plums ; they 
were splendid ! 

All at once the most miserable grumbles came from the 
table-drawer where Hialmar’s schoolbooks were kept. 

“ What is that now ? ” said Ole Lukoie, going along and 
opening the drawer. 

It was the slate groaning and writhing because there was 
a wrong figure in the sum set on it, and it was ready to fall 
to pieces. 

The pencil was hopping and skipping at the end of its 
piece of string, just as if it had been a little dog which 
would like to try and do the sum, but it couldn’t ! Then 
there was Hialmar’s copybook clamouring away inside its 
covers most pitifully. There was a row of capital letters 
down each side on every leaf, each with a little one beside 
it ; then beside them letters which imagined that they looked 
like them, but these were written by Hialmar. They looked 
almost as if they had tumbled over the line on which they 
ought to have been standing upright. 

“ See, this is how you ought to hold yourselves ! ” said the 
headlines, “ so, — to one side with a brisk flourish ! ” 

“Oh, we should like nothing better,” said Hialmar’s 
letters, “ but we can’t, we are so crooked ! ” 

“ Then you shall have a dose of medicine,” said Ole Lukoie. 

“ Oh, no ! ” they cried, and then they stood up as stiffly 
as possible. 

“ Well now we can’t tell any stories ! ” said Ole Lukoie. 
“ I must drill them ! One, two ! One, two ! ” and then 
he drilled the letters and they stood up stiffer than any 
headlines could stand. But when Ole Lukoie went away 
and Hialmar woke up in the morning they were as crooked 
as ever. 

TUESDAY 

As soon as Hialmar was in bed, Ole Lukoie touched all 
the furniture in the room with his little wooden wand, and 


Old Lukoid, the Dustman 347 

everything began to talk. They all talked about themselves 
except the spittoon, which was silent and much annoyed that 
they were all so vain, as only to talk about themselves, and 
to pay no attention to him, standing so modestly in the 
corner and allowing himself to be spat upon. There was 
a big picture in a gilt frame hanging over the chest of 
drawers; it was a landscape in which one saw tall, old 
trees, flowers growing in the grass, and a great piece of 
water, with a river flowing from it round behind a wood, 
past many castles and away to the open sea. 

Ole Lukoie touched the picture with his wand, and the 
birds in it began to sing, the branches of the trees moved 
and the clouds scudded along ; you could see their shadows 
passing over the landscape. 

Now Ole Lukoie lifted little Hialmar up close to the 
frame, and Hialmar put his leg right into the picture 
among the long grass, and there he stood; the sun shone 
down upon him through the branches of the trees. He 
ran to the water and got into a little boat which lay there, 
it was painted red and white, and the sails shone like silver. 
Six swans, all with golden crowns round their necks, and 
a shining blue star upon their heads, drew the boat past 
the dark green woods, where the trees told stories about 
robbers and witches ; and the flowers told other stories 
about the pretty little elves, and all that the butterflies 
had told them. 

Beautiful fish with gold and silver scales swam after the 
boat; every now and then they sprang out of the water 
and back again with a splash. Red and blue birds, large 
and small, flew in two long lines behind them; the gnats 
buzzed, and the cockchafers boomed ; they all wanted to go 
with Hialmar, and each of them had a story to tell. 

That was a sailing trip indeed ! Now the woods were thick 
and dark, now they were like beautiful gardens full of sunshine 
and flowers, and among them were castles of glass and marble. 
Princesses stood upon the balconies, and they were all little 
girls whom Hialmar knew and used to play with. 

They stretched out their hands, each one holding the 
most beautiful sugar pig which any cakewoman could sell. 
Hialmar took hold of one end of the pig as they sailed 
by, and the princess held the other tight, and each had 
a share, she the smaller and Hialmar the bigger ! Little 
princes stood sentry by each castle, they saluted with golden 


348 Old Lukoid, the Dustman 

swords, and showered down sugar plums and tin soldiers ; 
they were princes indeed. 

Now he sailed through a wood, now through great halls, 
or right through a town ; he passed through the one where 
his nurse lived, she who used to carry him about when he 
was quite a little boy and who was so fond of him. She 
nodded and waved her hand to him, and sang a pretty 
little song which she had written herself and sent to 
Hialmar : 

“ I dream of thee for many an hour, 

Hialmar, my own, my sweeting ; 

My kisses once fell like a shower, 

Thy brow and red cheeks greeting. 

Mine ear thy first formed word addressed, 

Thy last must be in parting ; 

May you on earth by Heaven be blessed, 

Angel, from Heavenward darting ! ” 

All the birds sang too, the flowers danced upon their stalks, 
and the old trees nodded, just as if Ole Lukoie were telling 
them stories. 

WEDNESDAY 

How the rain was pouring down outside ! Hialmar could 
even hear it in his sleep, and when Ole Lukoie opened the 
window, the water stood right up to the sill ; it was a regular 
lake, and a beautiful ship lay close up to the house. 

“ Will you sail with me, little Hialmar? ” said Ole Lukoie ; 
“if you will, you can go to distant countries to-night, and be 
back here again in the morning !” 

Then all at once Hialmar found himself in his best Sunday 
clothes, on board the beautiful ship ; it was heavenly weather, 
and they sailed through the streets, past the church, till they 
reached a wild open sea. They sailed so far that there was 
no more land to be seen. They saw a flock of storks leaving 
home on their way to the warm countries, flying in a line, 
one behind the other ; they had already flown a long, long 
way. One of them was so tired, that his wings could hardly 
carry him any further ; he was the last one in the row, and 
soon he was a long way behind. At last he sank, with out- 
spread wings, lower and lower ; he flapped his wings feebly 
for a few strokes, but it was no use. Now he touched the 
rigging of the ship with his feet, and slid down the sail with 
a flop on to the deck. 


Ole Lukoid, the Dustman 349 

Then the cabin boy picked him up and put him into the 
henhouse, with the chickens, and ducks and turkeys ; the 
poor stork stood among them looking quite depressed. 

“ What a creature ! ” said all the hens. The turkey-cock 
puffed himself up as big as he could, and asked who he was ; 
and the ducks waddled backwards pushing against each other,, 
saying “ Quack, quack ! ” 

Then the stork told them about sunny Africa, and the 
pyramids, and the ostrich running across the deserts like a 
wild horse ; but the ducks did not understand him, and they 
pushed each other and said, “ Are we agreed that he is an 
idiot?” 

“Yes, indeed, he’s an idiot,” said the turkey-cock with a 
gobble. Then the stork became quite silent, and thought 
about his beloved Africa. 

“ Nice thin legs you’ve got ! ” said the turkey-cock ; “ how 
much a yard ? ” 

“ Quack, quack, quack ! ” grinned all the ducks, but the 
stork appeared not to hear them. 

“ You’re quite at liberty to laugh too,” said the turkey-cock 
to him ; “ it was a very witty remark, or perhaps it was too 
low for you, gobble gobble. He’s not many-sided,” he said 
to the others ; “ it’s good enough to amuse us ! ” Then all 
the hens clucked and the ducks quacked ; it was tremendous 
the amusement they got out of it. 

But Hialmar went along to the hen-house, opened the 
door and called the stork, and it hopped out on to the deck 
to him. It was rested now, and it seemed to nod to 
Hialmar to thank him ; thereupon it spread its wings and 
flew away to the warm countries. But the hens clucked, 
the ducks quacked, and the turkey-cock’s head got as red 
as fire. 

“To-morrow we’ll make you into soup,” said Hialmar, and 
then he woke up and found himself lying in his own little bed. 
That was an extraordinary journey Ole Lukoie had taken 
him. 

THURSDAY 

“ m tell you what ! ” said Ole Lukoie ; don’t be frightened, 
and I will show you a little mouse.” And he stretched out 
his hand with the tiny little animal in it. “ It has come to 
invite you to a wedding. There are two little mice who 
intend to enter the wedded state to-night. They live under 


350 Old Lukoid, the Dustman 

the floor of your mother’s larder, which they say is a most 
delightful residence.” 

“ But how can I get through a little mouse hole in the 
floor?” said Hialmar. 

“ Leave that to me,” said Ole Lukoie ; “ I’ll soon make 
you small enough ! ” 

Then he touched Hialmar with his wand, and he quickly 
grew smaller and smaller ; at last he was not as tall as one’s 
finger. # - 

“Now you may borrow the tin soldier’s clothes; I think 
they’ll just fit you, and it looks so smart to have on a 
uniform when one’s in company.” 

“Yes indeed!” said Hialmar, and in a moment he was 
dressed like the grandest tin soldier. 

“ Be so good as to take a seat in your mother’s thimble,” 
said the little mouse, “and I shall have the honour of 
drawing you ! ” 

“ Heavens ! are you going to take that trouble yourself, 
young lady?” said Hialmar, and off they drove to the 
mouse’s wedding. 

First they went down under the floor into a long pas- 
sage, which was just high enough for them to drive through, 
and the whole passage was lighted up with touch-wood. 

“ Isn’t there a delicious smell here ? ” said the mouse who 
was drawing him ; “ the whole passage has been smeared 
over with bacon fat ! Nothing could be nicer.” 

Then they came to the bridal hall, where all the little 
lady mice stood on the right whispering and giggling, as if 
they were making fun of each other, and on the left stood 
all the gentlemen mice stroking their whiskers with their 
paws. The bridal pair stood in the middle of the room, 
in the hollow rind of a cheese, kissing each other most 
energetically before all the other people, but then they were 
engaged, you know, and just about to be married. 

More and more visitors poured in, the mice were almost 
crushing each other to death, and the bridal pair had taken 
their place in the doorway, so that one could neither get in 
nor out. The whole room, like the passage, was smeared 
with bacon fat ; there were no other refreshments, but for 
dessert a pea was produced, in which one of the little mice 
of the family had bitten the name of the bridal pair ; that 
is to say the first letter of it, and this was something quite 
extraordinary. 


Old Lukoid, the Dustman 351 

All the mice said it was a delightful wedding, and the 
conversation most entertaining. 

And then Hialmar drove home again ; he had been in 
very grand company, but in order to get there he had been 
obliged to shrink wonderfully, to make himself small enough 
to get into the uniform of a tin soldier. 

FRIDAY 

“It is astounding what a number of grown-up people 
would like to get hold of me ! ” said Ole Lukoie, “ especially 
those with a bad conscience. ‘ Good little Ole/ they say to 
me, ‘ we can’t close our eyes, and there we lie all night with 
all our bad deeds staring us in the face. They are like 
naughty elfins ; they come and sit on our beds and squirt 
hot water over us. Won’t you come and chase them away 
so that we may have a good sleep?’ and then they sigh 
deeply. * We will gladly pay you, Ole ; good-night. You 
will find the money on the window-sill.’ ‘ But I don’t do it 
for money ! ’ ” said Ole Lukoie. 

“ What are we going to do to-night? ” asked Hialmar. 

“ Well, I don’t know whether you would like to go to a 
wedding again to-night ; it’s a different kind from yester- 
day’s. Your sister’s big doll, the one which looks like a 
man and is called Herman, is to be married to Bertha ; 
besides which it is her birthday, so there will be no end 
of presents.” 

“Oh, I know all about that; whenever the dolls want new 
clothes my sister lets them have a birthday or a wedding. 
It has happened hundreds of times ! ” 

“ Yes, but to-night it’s the hundred and first wedding, and 
the hundred and first is the end of all things, so that’s why 
this one will be so grand. Just look ! ” 

Hialmar looked along at the table ; there was the little 
pasteboard house with lights in the windows, and all the 
tin soldiers presenting arms outside. The bridal pair sat 
upon the floor leaning against the leg of the table ; they 
were very thoughtful, and they had reason to be. Ole 
Lukoie, dressed in grandmother’s black skirt, married 
them; when the ceremony was over, all the furniture in the 
room joined in singing the following pretty song which had 
been written by the pencil ; it went to the tune of the 
tattoo. 


352 01 £ Lukdid, the Dustman 

“ Our song shall swing like the wind, like the wind, 

Till the bridal pair are enshrin’d, are enshrin’d, 

And they curtsey both like a stick, do you mind ? 

For they’re wood inside with kid for a rind. 

Hurrah ! hurrah 1 wood and skin well combin’d, 

We’ll sing it aloud to the rain and the wind 1 ” 

Then the presents were given, but they had declined 
any eatables : love was enough for them without anything 
else. 

“ Shall we go into the country or travel abroad ? ” asked 
the bridegroom, and then they consulted the swallow which 
had travelled so much, and the old mother hen which had 
reared five broods of chickens. The swallow told them all 
about the delightful warm countries where the grapes hung 
in luscious clusters, and where the air was so mild, and the 
colours on the mountains were such as were not to be found 
elsewhere. 

“ But they haven’t got our green cabbage,” said the hen. 
“ I was in the country all one summer with my chicks ; 
there was a gravel pit that we scratched in all day, and then 
we got admission to a garden where the cabbage grew ! 
Oh, how green it was ! I can’t imagine anything more 
beautiful.” 

“ But one cabbage is just like another,” said the swallow, 
“ and then there’s so much bad weather here ! ” 

“ Oh, were used to that,” said the hen. 

“ But it’s so cold, it freezes.” 

“ That’s good for the cabbage,” said the hen. “ Besides, 
sometimes it is warm enough. Four years ago didn’t we 
have a summer with tremendous heat, for five weeks one 
could hardly breathe ! And then we don’t have all the 
poisonous creatures they have abroad, and there are no 
robbers. Anyone who doesn’t think our own country the 
best, must be a fool ! He doesn’t deserve to live here.” 
And the hen began to cry. “ I’ve had my journeys too ; I 
once travelled twelve miles in a barrel, and there’s no 
pleasure in travelling.” 

“ Ah, the hen is a wise woman ! ” said Bertha the doll. 
M I don’t like travelling among mountains either, for first 
you go up and then you go down ! No, we will move out 
by the gravel pit and take our walks in the cabbage 
garden.” 

And that was the end of it. 


Old Lukoid, the Dustman 353 

SATURDAY 

“ Are we going to have some stories ? ” asked little 
Hialmar, as soon as Ole Lukoie had got him to bed. 

“ We haven’t time for any to-night,” said Ole, as he 
opened his prettiest umbrella. “ Just look at these 
Chinese ! ” The whole umbrella looked exactly like a big 
Chinese bowl, with blue trees all over it, and arched bridges 
on which stood little people nodding their heads. “ We 
must have the whole world polished up for to-morrow,” said 
Ole ; “it is a holiday for it is Sunday. I must go up into 
the church tower to see if the little church brownies are 
polishing the bells so that they may sound well. I must go 
into the fields to see if the wind has blown the dust off the 
grass and leaves. My biggest piece of work is to get down 
all the stars to polish them ; I take them in my apron ; but 
first I have to number each one and the holes they belong 
to have to be numbered too, so that they may go back into 
their proper places or they wouldn’t stick, and then we 
should be having too many falling stars, one after the other 
would drop out.” 

“ Now, I say, Mr Lukoie,” said one of the old portraits 
hanging on the wall, “ I am Hialmar’s great-grandfather ; I 
am much obliged to you for telling him stories, but you 
mustn’t puzzle his brains. The stars can’t be taken down 
to be polished ! The stars are planets just like our own 
earth, and that’s the best of them ! ” 

“ Much obliged to you, old great-grandfather,” said Ole 
Lukoie. “ My best thanks to you ; you are the head of the 
family ; you are an antiquity, but I am older than you ! I 
am an old heathen ; the Greeks and Romans call me the 
Dream-god ! I have my footing in the grandest houses ; I 
can get on both with big and little ! You may tell the 
stories yourself!” And then Ole Lukoie went away and 
took his umbrella with him. 

“ I suppose one mayn’t give an opinion now ! ” said the 
old portrait. 

And then Hialmar woke. 

SUNDAY 

“ Good evening,” said Ole Lukoie, and Hialmar nodded ; 
and then he jumped up and turned great-grandfather’s 


354 Old Lukoid, the Dustman 

portrait with its face to the wall, so that it should not talk 
as it did last time. 

“Now you must tell me some stories about ‘The five 
green peas which lived in a peaspod/ and about the ‘ Cock 
paying his addresses to the hen,’ and about the ‘ Darning- 
needle/ which was so fine that it fancied it was an ordinary 
needle ! ” 

“ You may have too much of a good thing,” said Ole 
Lukoie; “I would rather show you something you know! 
I will show you my brother ; he is also called Ole Lukoie, 
but he never comes more than once to anybody, and when 
he comes he takes them away with him on his horse, and 
tells them stories. He only knows two, one which is so 
beautiful that nobody on earth can imagine it, and one 
which is too horrible to be described ! ” And then Ole 
lifted little Hialmar up to the window, and said, “Now you 
can see my brother, the other Ole Lukoie ! He is also 
called Death; you see he doesn’t look at all bad, as he 
sometimes does in pictures, all bones and joints! No, he 
has a silver embroidered border round his coat; it is a 
Hussar’s uniform, and a black velvet cloak streams out 
behind over his horse’s back ! See how they are galloping.” 

And Hialmar saw how Ole Lukoie rode off, taking both 
old and young with him on his horse. He put some of 
them before him and some behind, but he always asked 
first, “What character have you in your mark book?” 
They all said “good.” “Let me see myself,” said he, and 
then they had to show him the book. All those who had 
“very good” or “excellent” against their names were put 
up in front of him, and were told the most delightful 
stories ; but those who had only “ pretty good ” or “ toler- 
able,” had to sit behind him, and were told horrible stories. 
They shivered, and cried, and tried to get off the horse, but 
they couldn’t do that, because they grew fast to it at once. 

“ But Death is a beautiful Ole Lukoie,” said Hialmar. 
“ I am not a bit afraid of him ! ” 

“ Nor need you be/’ said Ole Lukoie ; “ if only you take 
care to have a good character in your book.” 

“Ah, now, that’s instructive!” mumbled great-grand- 
father’s portrait. “ It’s, some good after all to speak one’s 
mind ! ” and he was quite pleased. 

Now this is the story about Ole Lukoie ! To-night he 
can tell you some more himself. 


The Swineherd 


There was once a poor Prince; he had only quite a tiny 
kingdom, but it was big enough to allow him to marry, and 
he was bent upon marrying. 

Now, it certainly was rather bold of him to say to the 
Emperor’s daughter, “Will you have me?” He did, 
however, venture to say so, for his name was known far and 
wide; and there were hundreds of Princesses who would 
have said “Yes,” and “Thank you, kindly,” but see if she 
would ! 

Just let us hear about it. 

A rose tree grew on the grave of the Prince’s father, it 
was such a beautiful rose tree ; it only bloomed every fifth 
year, and then only bore one blossom ; but what a rose that 
was ! By merely smelling it one forgot all one’s cares and 
sorrows. 

Then he had a nightingale which sang as if every lovely 
melody in the world dwelt in her little throat. This rose 
and this nightingale were to be given to the Princess, so 
they were put into great silver caskets and sent to her. 

The Emperor had them carried before him into the great 
Hall where the Princess was playing at “visiting” with her 
ladies-in-waiting ; they had nothing else to do. When she 
saw the caskets with the gifts she clapped her hands with 
delight ! 

“If only it were a little pussy cat!” said she, — but there 
was the lovely rose. 

“ Oh, how exquisitely it is made ! ” said all the ladies-in- 
waiting. 

“It is more than beautiful,” said the Emperor; “it is 
neat.” 

But the Princess touched it, and then she was ready to 
cry. 

“ Fie, papa ! ” she said ; “ it is not made, it is a real 
one ! ” 


355 


356 The Swineherd 

“ Fie,” said all the ladies-in-waiting ; “ it is a real one ! ” 

“ Well, let us see what there is in the other casket, before 
we get angry,” said the Emperor, and out came the nightin- 
gale. It sang so beautifully that at first no one could find 
anything to say against it. 

“ Super be I charm ant l ” said the ladies-in-waiting, for 
they all had a smattering of French, one spoke it worse than 
the other. 

“ How that bird reminds me of our lamented Empress’s 
musical box,” said an old courtier. “ Ah, yes, they are the 
same tunes, and the same beautiful execution.” 

“So they are,” said the Emperor, and he cried like a 
little child. 

“ I should hardly think it could be a real one,” said the 
Princess. 

“ Yes, it is a real one,” said those who had brought it. 

“ Oh, let that bird fly away then,” said the Princess, and 
she would not hear of allowing the Prince to come. But 
he was not to be crushed ; he stained his face brown and 
black, and, pressing his cap over his eyes, he knocked at 
the door. 

“Good morning, Emperor,” said he; “can I be taken 
into service in the palace ? ” 

“ Well, there are so many wishing to do that,” said the 
Emperor ; “ but let me see ! — yes, I need somebody to look 
after the pigs, for we have so many of them.” 

So the Prince was made imperial swineherd. A horrid 
little room was given him near the pig-sties, and here he had 
to live. He sat busily at work all day, and by the evening 
he had made a beautiful little cooking pot ; it had bells all 
round it and when the pot boiled they tinkled delightfully 
and played the old tune : 

“ Ach da lieber Augustin, 

Alles ist weg, weg, weg ! ” 1 

But the greatest charm of all about it was, that by holding 
one’s finger in the steam one could immediately smell all the 
dinners that were being cooked at every stove in the town. 
Now this was a very different matter from a rose. 

The Princess came walking along with all her ladies-in- 
waiting, and when she heard the tune she stopped and 
looked pleased for she could play “ Ach du lieber 

1 Alas 1 dear Augustin, 

All is lost, lost, lost 1 



The Princess came walking along with all 
her ladies-in-waiting 




358 The Swineherd 

Augustin ” herself ; it was her only tune, and she could 
only play it with one finger. 

“Why, that is my tune,” she said; “this must be a 
cultivated swineherd. Go and ask him what the instrument 
costs.” 

So one of the ladies-in-waiting had to go into his room, 
but she put pattens on first. 

“ How much do you want for the pot,” she asked. 

“I must have ten kisses from the Princess,” said the 
swineherd. 

“ Heaven preserve us ! ” said the lady. 

“ I won’t take less,” said the swineherd. 

“ Well, what does he say ? ” asked the Princess. 

“ I really cannot tell you,” said the lady-in-waiting, “ it is 
so shocking.” 

“ Then you must whisper it.” And she whispered it. 

“ He is a wretch ! ” said the Princess, and went away at 
once. But she had only gone a little way when she heard 
the bells tinkling beautifully : 

“ Ach du lieber Augustin.” 

“Go and ask him if he will take ten kisses from the 
ladies-in-waiting.” 

“No, thank you,” said the swineherd; “ten kisses from 
the Princess, or I keep my pot.” 

“ How tiresome it is,” said the Princess. “ Then you will 
have to stand round me, so that no one may see.” 

So the ladies-in-waiting stood round her and spread out 
their skirts while the swineherd took his ten kisses, and then 
the pot was hers. 

What a delight it was to them. The pot was kept on 
the boil day and night. They knew what was cooking 
on every stove in the town, from the chamberlain’s to the 
shoemaker’s. The ladies-in-waiting danced about and 
clapped their hands. 

“ We know who has sweet soup and pancakes for dinner, 
and who has cutlets ; how amusing it is.” 

“ Highly interesting,” said the mistress of the robes. 

“Yes, but hold your tongues, for I am the Emperor’s 
daughter.” 

“ Heaven preserve us ! ” they all said. 

The swineherd — that is to say, the Prince, only nobody 
knew that he was not a real swineherd — did not let the day 


The Swineherd 359 

pass in idleness, and he now constructed a rattle. When it 
was swung round it played all the waltzes, galops and jig 
tunes which have ever been heard since the creation of the 
world. 

“ But this is superbe ! ” said the Princess, as she walked by. 
“ I have never heard finer compositions. Go and ask him 
what the instrument costs, but let us have no more kissing.” 

“He wants a hundred kisses from the Princess !” said the 
lady-in-waiting. 

“ I think he is mad ! ” said the Princess, and she went 
away, but she had not gone far when she stopped. 

“ One must encourage art,” she said ; “I am the Em- 
peror’s daughter. Tell him he can have ten kisses, the 
same as yesterday, and he can take the others from the 
ladies-in-waiting. ” 

“ But we don’t like that at all,” said the ladies. 

“ Oh, nonsense ! If I can kiss him you can do the same. 
Remember that I pay your wages as well as give you board 
and lodging.” So the lady-in-waiting had to go again. 

“ A hundred kisses from the Princess, or let each keep his 
own.” 

“ Stand in front of me,” said she, and all the ladies stood 
round, while he kissed her. 

“ Whatever is the meaning of that crowd round the pig- 
sties ? ” said the Emperor as he stepped out on to the 
verandah ; he rubbed his eyes and put on his spectacles. 
“Why it is the ladies-in-waiting, what game are they up to? 
I must go and see ! ” so he pulled up the heels of his slippers 
for they were shoes which he had trodden down. 

Bless us, what a hurry he was in ! When he got into the 
yard, he walked very softly and the ladies were so busy 
counting the kisses, so that there should be fair play, and 
neither too few nor too many kisses, that they never heard 
the Emperor. He stood on tiptoe. 

“What is all this? ” he said when he saw what was going 
on, and he hit them on the head with his slipper just as the 
swineherd was taking the eighty-sixth kiss. 

“ Out you go ! ” said the Emperor, for he was furious, and 
both the Princess and the Prince were put out of his realm. 

There she stood crying, and the swineherd scolded, and 
the rain poured down in torrents. 

“ Oh, miserable creature that I am ! if only I had accepted 
the handsome Prince. Oh, how unhappy I am ! ” 


360 The Swineherd 

The swineherd went behind a tree, wiped the black and 
brown stain from his face, and threw away his ugly clothes. 
Then he stepped out dressed as a Prince, he was so hand- 
some that the Princess could not help curtseying to him. 

“ I am come to despise thee,” he said. “Thou wouldst 
not have an honourable prince, thou couldst not prize the 
rose or the nightingale, but thou wouldst kiss the swineherd 
for a trumpery musical box ! As thou hast made thy bed, 
so must thou lie upon it ! ” 

Then he went back into his own little kingdom and shut 
and locked the door. So she had to stand outside and sing 
in earnest — 

“ Ach du lieber Augustin 
Alles ist weg, weg, weg ! ” 



The Travelling Companions 

Poor John was very sad, his father was ill and he knew that 
he could not recover. There was no one else in the little 
room besides these two ; it was quite late at night and the 
lamp had nearly burnt out. 

“You have been a good son, John,” said the dying man. 
“ I am sure the Lord will help you on in the world ! ” and 
he fixed his mild, gentle eyes upon his son, drew a long 
breath and passed away so quietly, he only seemed to be 
asleep. John wept bitterly, for now he had nobody in the 
world belonging to him, neither father nor mother, sister 
nor brother. Poor John ! he knelt by the bedside and 
kissed his dead father’s hands and shed many tears ; but at 
last his eyes closed, and he fell asleep with his head against 
the hard bed-post. 

He had a wonderful dream ; he saw the sun and moon 
bowing before him, and he saw his father quite well and 
strong again ; he laughed as he always used to laugh when 
he was very pleased. A lovely girl with a golden crown on 
her long, beautiful hair, stretched out her hand to John, and 
his father said, “ See what a beautiful bride you have won. 
She is the loveliest maiden in the world.” Then he woke 
up and all the beautiful things were gone ; his father lay on 
the bed dead and cold, and there was no one else there, 
poor John ! 

The dead man was buried in the following week; John 
walked close behind the coffin, and he could no longer see 
his good father who had loved him so much. He heard 
the earth fall upon the coffin lid, and watched it till only 
a corner was left, and then the last shovelful fell upon it, 
and it was entirely hidden. He was so miserable, he felt 
as if his heart would break. 

A beautiful psalm was being sung which brought the tears 
into his eyes, he wept, and this brought him relief. The 
sun was shining brightly on the green trees, and seemed to 

361 


362 The Travelling Companions 

say, “Do not be so sad, John ! See how blue the sky is; 
your good father is up there, and he will pray to God that 
all may be well with you.” 

“I will always be good!” said John, “and then I shall 
go to Heaven sometime to my father, and what joy it will 
be to see each other again. How much I shall have to tell 
him ; and he will have so much to show me, and to teach 
me about the bliss of Heaven, just as he used to teach me 
here on earth. Oh, what joy it will be ! ” 

John saw it all so vividly that he smiled at the thought, 
although the tears still ran down his cheeks. The little birds 
in the chestnut tree twittered with joy although they had 
been at the funeral, but they knew that the dead man was 
in Heaven, and that he now had wings larger and more 
beautiful than their own. They knew, too, that he was 
happy, because he had been a good man here on earth, and 
they were glad of it. John saw them fly away from the trees 
out into the world, and he felt a strong desire to fly away 
with them. But first he made a wooden cross to put up on 
his father’s grave ; when he brought it along in the evening 
he found the grave covered with sand and decorated with 
flowers. This had been done by strangers for love of his father. 

Early next morning John packed his little bundle and 
stowed away his sole inheritance in his belt ; it only con- 
sisted of fifty dollars and a few silver coins, and with these 
he started out into the world. But first he went to the 
churchyard to his father’s grave, where he knelt and said the 
Lord’s prayer, and then added, “Farewell, dear father! I 
will always be good, and then you won’t be afraid to pray to 
the good God that all may go well with me ! ” 

The fields that John passed through were full of bright 
flowers nodding their heads in the warm sunshine as much 
as to say, “ Welcome into the fields ! Is it not lovely 
here?” but John turned round once more to look at the 
old church where he had been baptised, and where he had 
gone every Sunday and sung the psalms with his good old 
father. On looking back he saw standing in one of the 
loop-holes of the tower the little church-Nisse with his 
pointed red cap, shading his eyes from the sun with his 
arm. John nodded good-bye to him, and the little Nisse 
waved his hand and kissed his fingers to him to show that 
he was sending his good wishes for a pleasant journey. 

John now began to think how many beautiful things he 


The Travelling Companions 363 

would see in the great beautiful world before him, and he 
went on and on till he found himself much further away 
than he had ever been before. He did not know the 
towns through which he passed, or the people he met, he 
was quite among strangers. The first night he had to 
sleep under a haystack in a field, for he had no other bed. 
But he thought it was lovely, no king could have had a 
better. The field by the river, the haystack and the deep 
blue sky above made a charming room. The green grass 
dotted with red and white flowers was the carpet, the elders 
and the rose bushes were growing bouquets, and he had the 
whole river for a bath, with its clear fresh water, and the 
rushes which nodded their heads bidding him both “ Good- 
night ” and Good morning.” The moon was a great night 
light high up under the blue ceiling, one which would 
never set fire to the curtains. John could sleep quite 
quietly without fear, and this he also did. He only woke 
when the sun was high up in the sky and all the little birds 
were singing, “ Good morning ! Good morning ! Are you 
not up yet? ” 

The bells were ringing for church ; people were on their 
way to hear the parson pray and preach, and John went with 
them. He sang a psalm and listened to the word of God, 
and he felt as if he were in his own old church, where he 
had been christened, and where he had sung the psalms 
with his father. There were a great many graves in the 
churchyard, and some of them were overgrown with long 
grass. John thought of his father’s grave, which some 
day might look like these when he was no longer there 
to weed and trim it. So he knelt down, pulled up the 
long grass, and raised the wooden crosses which had 
fallen down. He picked up the wreaths which had been 
blown away and replaced them, thinking that perhaps 
someone would do the same for his father’s grave now 
he was away. 

An old beggar was standing outside the churchyard 
leaning on a crutch, and John gave him the few silver coins 
he had left, and then went happily and cheerfully on into the 
wide world. Towards evening a fearful storm came on and 
John hurried to get under shelter, but it soon grew dark. 
At last he reached a little church standing on a solitary hill ; 
the door was ajar, and he slipped in to take shelter till the 
storm was over. 


364 The Travelling Companions 

“ I will sit down here in a corner till the storm is over,” 
he said ; “ I am quite tired and in need of a rest ! ” so he 
sat down, folded his hands, and said his evening prayer ; 
and before he was aware he was asleep and dreaming while 
it thundered and lightened outside. 

When he woke up it was the middle of the night and 
the storm was over : the moon was shining in upon him 
through the windows. In the middle of the aisle stood 
an open coffin with a dead man in it who was not yet 
buried. John was not at all afraid, for he had a good 
conscience, and he knew that the dead can do no harm ; 
it is living wicked people who do harm to others. There 
were two such bad men standing by the coffin. They 
had come to do harm to this poor dead man; to turn 
him out of his coffin and throw the body outside the 
church door. 

“ Why do you want to do this ? ” asked John. “ It is very 
wicked and disgraceful ; let the man rest for Heaven’s sake ! ” 

“ Oh nonsense ! ” replied the wretches ; “ he cheated us, 
he owed us money which he could not pay, and now he 
has gone and died into the bargain, and we shall never see a 
penny, so we want to revenge ourselves. He shall lie like a 
dog outside the church doors ! ” 

“ I have not got more than fifty dollars,” said John ; “ it 
is my whole inheritance, but I will gladly give it to you 
if you will honestly promise me to leave the poor dead 
man in peace. I shall manage very well without the 
money, I have good strong limbs, and the Lord will always 
help me.” 

“Well,” said the bad men, “if you are ready to pay 
his debt like that, we w r on’t do him any harm, we can 
assure you ! ” 

And they took the money John gave them, laughing 
at him for being such a simpleton, and then they went 
away. John put the body straight again, folded the hands, 
said good-bye and went away through the woods in a 
state of great satisfaction. Around him where the moon 
pierced through the trees he saw numbers of little elves 
playing about merrily. They did not disturb themselves on 
his account, they knew very well that he was a good innocent 
person, and it is only bad people who never see the fairies. 
Some of them were no bigger than one’s finger, and they 
had long yellow hair fastened up with golden combs. 


The Travelling Companions 365 

They swung hand in hand upon the big dewdrops which 
covered the leaves and the long grass. Sometimes the dew- 
drop rolled down, and then they fell with it down among the 
grass, and this caused great noise and laughter among the 
little folks. It was very amusing. They sang all the pretty 
little songs John used to know when he was a little boy. 
Great spiders with silver crowns upon their heads spun their 
webs from branch to branch like bridges connecting palaces. 
They glittered in the moonlight like glass where the dew 
had fallen on them. They went on with their sports till the 
sun rose, and the little creatures crept away into the flower 
buds, and the wind caught the bridges and palaces and 
swept them away into the air like cobwebs. 

John had just got through the wood, when a strong man’s 
voice called out behind him ; “ hallo, comrade ! whither 
away ? ” 

“ Out into the wide world,” said John. “ I have neither 
father nor mother, I am only a poor lad, but the Lord will 
protect me.” 

“ I am going out into the wide world too ! ” said the 
stranger ; “ shall we go together ? ” 

“ By all means,” said John, and so they walked on 
together. 

They soon grew much attached to each other, for they 
were both good men, but John soon saw that the stranger was 
much wiser than himself, he had been round the greater part 
of the world, and he was well able to describe all that he had 
seen. 

The sun was already high when they sat down under a big 
tree to eat their breakfast, and just then an old woman came 
up. She was very old and bent, and walked with a crutch ; 
she had a bundle of sticks she had picked up in the wood 
on her back, and her apron was fastened up, and John could 
see in it three bundles or faggots of dried fern and some 
willow twigs. When she got near them, her foot slipped 
and she fell with a loud shriek ; the poor old woman had 
broken her leg. 

John wanted to carry her home, but the stranger opened 
his knapsack, and took out a little pot of salve, which he 
said would make her leg well directly, and she would be 
able to walk home as well as if she had never broken it. 
But in payment for it he wanted the three bundles of fern 
she had in her apron. 


366 The Travelling Companions 

“ That is very good payment,” said the old woman, 
nodding her head rather oddly ; she did not want to part 
with her three bundles of fern, but it was not so pleasant to 
lie there with a broken leg, so she gave him the faggots. As 
soon as he had rubbed on the salve, the old woman got up 
and walked away faster than she had been able to do before. 
This was all the effect of the salve ; but no such ointment as 
this was to be had at any chemist’s. 

“Whatever do you want with those bundles of fern?” 
said John to his companion. 

“ They make very good birch rods, and they are just what 
I like. I am a very queer fellow, you know ! ” 

Then they walked on for a good bit. 

“ What a storm is drawing up there ! ” said John, pointing 
before him ; “ those are terribly black clouds.” 

“No,” said his fellow-traveller, “those are not clouds, 
they are mountains, beautiful high mountains, where you 
can get right above the clouds into the fresh air. It is 
splendid up there ! To-morrow we shall just reach 
them.” 

They were not so near, however, as they seemed to be ; it 
took them a whole day to reach the mountains, where the 
dark forests grew right up towards the sky, and where there 
were great boulders as big as houses, or even towns. It 
would be a heavy task to climb over all these, and so John 
and his fellow-traveller went into an inn to rest and refresh 
themselves before they made the ascent next day. There 
were a number of people in the bar parlour at the inn, for 
there was a man showing off some marionettes. He had 
just put up his little theatre, and the people were sitting 
round waiting for the play to begin. A fat old butcher had 
taken up his place in the middle of the front row, and he 
had a ferocious looking bulldog by his side, and it sat staring 
just as hard as anybody else. 

Then the comedy began, and it was a very pretty play, 
with a King and a Queen in it. They sat on a velvet throne 
with golden crowns on their heads, and trains for they could 
well afford it. The prettiest little wooden dolls stood by all 
the doors, they had bright glass eyes and big whiskers, and 
they were employed in opening and shutting the doors to 
let in the fresh air. It was a capital play and not at all a 
tragic one, but just as the queen got up to walk across the 
floor — Heaven knows what idea entered the bulldog’s head, 


The Travelling Companions 367 

but finding that the butcher was not holding him, he made 
a great leap forward right into the middle of the theatre and 
seized the Queen by the slender waist, and crunched her 
head up. It was a terrible disaster ! 

The poor showman was quite frightened and also very sad 
about his Queen, for she was his prettiest doll, and the 
horrid bulldog had entirely ruined her. But when all the 
people had gone away John’s fellow-traveller said he could 
make her all right again, and he took out his little pot and 
rubbed some of the same ointment on to the doll which had 
cured the poor old woman who had broken her leg. As 
soon as ever the doll had been rubbed over with the oint- 
ment she became whole again, nay, she could even move all 
her limbs herself; it was no longer necessary to pull the 
wires. The doll was exactly like a living being, except that 
she could not speak. The showman was delighted, because 
now he did not have to hold the wires at all for this doll, as 
she could dance quite well by herself, and none of the others 
could do that. 

At night, when everybody had gone to bed, someone was 
heard sighing most dolefully, and it went on so long that 
everybody got up to see who it could be. The showman 
went along to his theatre, because that was where the sighs 
seemed to come from. All the wooden dolls were lying in 
a heap ; it was the King and his guards who were sighing so 
dismally and staring with their glass eyes. They all wanted 
to be rubbed with some of the same ointment as the Queen, 
so that they might be able to move their limbs as well as she 
did. She threw herself down on her knees and stretched 
out her hands with her golden crown, saying, “Pray, take 
this, but do, please, rub some of the ointment on to my 
consort and the courtiers ! ” The poor man who owned the 
theatre and the marionettes could not help crying, he was 
so sorry for them. He immediately promised the travelling- 
companion that he would give him all the money he pos- 
sessed if he would only anoint five or six of the prettiest 
dolls. But the travelling-companion said that he did not 
want anything except the big sword that the showman wore 
at his side, and as soon as it was given him he anointed six 
dolls. They began to dance about at once so prettily that 
all the real, living girls who saw them began to dance too. 
The coachman and the cook, the waiter and the chamber- 
maid, and all the strangers joined in, as well as the shovel 


368 The Travelling Companions 

and the tongs : but those two fell on the top of each other 
just as they were making their first bound. It was indeed a 
lively night ! 

Next morning John and his travelling-companion went 
away from them all, up the high mountains and through 
the great pine forests. They got so high that at last the 
church towers far below looked like little red berries among 
all the green ; and they could see far away for many, many 
miles, to places where they had never been ! John had 
never seen so many of the beauties of this beautiful world 
all together before. The warm sun shone brightly in tho 
clear blue sky, and the huntsman was heard winding his 
horn among the mountains; it was all so peaceful and 
sweet that it brought tears to his eyes, and he could not 
help exclaiming, “ Great God, I could fall down and kiss 
the hem of Thy garment out of gratitude for all Thy good 
gifts to us ! ” 

His travelling-companion also stood with folded hands 
looking at the woods and the villages basking in the warm 
sunshine. They heard a wonderful and beautiful sound 
above their heads, and looked up; a great white swan 
was hovering in the air above them. It sang as they had 
never heard any bird sing before; but the song became 
fainter and fainter, and the swan gradually sank down before 
their feet, where it lay dead — the beautiful bird. 

“ Two such beautiful wings,” said the travelling-companion. 
“Such big white ones are worth a lot of money; I will take 
them with me. Now, you see what a good thing it was that 
I got this sword ! ” and with one blow he struck off both the 
wings of the dead swan, for he meant to keep them. 

They travelled many, many miles over the mountains, till 
at last they saw before them a great town with over a hundred 
towers, which glittered like silver in the sunshine. In the 
middle of the town was a splendid marble palace, thatched 
with red gold, in which the King lived. 

John and his travelling-companion did not want to go 
into the town at once ; they stopped at an inn outside to 
change their clothes, as they wished to look their best when 
they walked through the streets. The host told them that 
the King was such a good old man, he never did any harm 
to anyone ; but his daughter — Heaven preserve us ! she was 
a wicked Princess. 

Beauty she had more than enough of ; nobody could be 


The Travelling Companions 369 

so beautiful and fascinating as she was, but what was the 
good of it when she was such a bad, wicked witch, who 
was the cause of so many handsome Princes having lost 
their lives. She had given permission to anybody to court 
her. Anyone who would might come, were he Prince or 
beggar — it was all the same to her ; he only had to guess 
three riddles she asked him. If he could answer them, she 
would marry him, and he would be king over all the land 
when her father died ; but if he failed to answer them, he 
either had to be hanged or to have his head cut off. So 
bad and so wicked was this beautiful Princess. Her father, 
the old King, was much grieved by it, but he could not 
prevent her from being so wicked, for he had once said 
that he would never have anything to do with her lovers ; 
she must deal with them herself as she liked. Every Prince 
who had yet come to guess the riddles so as to gain the 
Princess had failed, and so he had either been hanged or 
had his head cut off. Each one had been warned, and he 
need not have paid his addresses unless he had liked. The 
old King was so grieved by all this trouble and misery that 
he and his soldiers spent a whole day every year on their 
knees praying that the Princess might become good. But 
she had no intention of so doing. The old women who 
drank brandy dyed it black before they drank it; that was 
their way of mourning, and what more could they do ! 

“That vile Princess!” said John, “she ought to be well 
birched, that would be the best thing for her. If I were the 
King I would make the blood run !” Just then they heard 
all the people in the streets shouting “ Hurrah ! ” The 
Princess was passing, and she was really so beautiful that 
when they saw her everybody forgot how wicked she was, 
and so they all shouted “ Hurrah.” Twelve beautiful 
maidens clothed in white silk with golden tulips in their 
hands, rode twelve coal-black horses by her side. The 
Princess herself was on a snow-white horse, adorned with 
diamonds and rubies; her riding dress was of pure gold, 
and the whip in her hand looked like a sunbeam. The 
golden crown on her head seemed to be made of little 
twinkling stars from the sky; and her cloak was sewn all 
over with thousands of beautiful butterflies’ wings. But she 
was far, far more beautiful than all her clothes. 

When John saw her his face became as red as blood, 
and he could hardly say a single word ; the Princess was 


370 The Travelling Companions 

the image of the beautiful girl with the golden crown 
whom he had seen in his dream, the night his father 
died. He thought her so beautiful that he at once fell 
in love with her. It certainly could not be true, he 
thought, that she could be a wicked witch who allowed 
people to be hanged or executed if they could not guess 
her riddles. “Anyone may pay his addresses to her, even 
the poorest peasant : I will go to the Palace myself ! I can’t 
help going ! ” 

They all said that he ought not to go as he would only 
meet the same fate as the others. His travelling-companion 
also advised him against going, but John thought he would 
be sure to get on all right ; so he brushed his coat and his 
shoes, washed his hands and face, and combed his yellow 
hair, and then went quite alone to the town and straight up 
to the Palace. 

“Come in,” said the old King when John knocked at the 
door. He opened it, and the old King in his dressing-gown 
and slippers came towards him. He had his gold crown on 
his head, the sceptre in one hand, and the golden ball in the 
other. “ Wait a moment,” said he, tucking the ball under 
his arm so as to be able to shake hands with John. But as 
soon as he heard that John was a suitor he began to cry so 
much that both the ball and the sceptre rolled on to the 
floor, and he had to wipe his eyes with his dressing-gown. 
The poor old King ! 

“ Leave it alone ! ” said he ; “ you are sure to fail just 
like the others, I am convinced of it ! ” Then he led John 
into the Princess’ pleasure garden, which was a ghastly sight. 
From every tree hung three or four Kings’ sons who had 
come to court the Princess, but who had all been unable 
to guess her riddles. With every gust of wind the bones 
rattled so that all the little birds were frightened away and 
they never dared come into the garden ; all the flowers were 
tied up to human bones in the place of stakes, and human 
skulls grinned out of every flower pot. It was indeed a nice 
garden for a Princess. 

“ Here you see,” said the old King, “your fate will be just 
the same as all these. Do give it up. It makes me most 
unhappy, I take it so much to heart.” John kissed the old 
King’s hand and said he thought it would be all right for he 
was so fond of the beautiful Princess. 

Just then the Princess came herself with all her ladies 


The Travelling Companions 371 

driving into the Palace gardens, so they went up to her and 
said “ Good morning.” She was certainly very beautiful as 
she shook hands with John, and he was more in love with 
her than ever; it was impossible that she could be the 
wicked witch people said she was. They all went up into 
the hall and the little pages brought jam and gingerbread 
nuts to them ; but the old King was so sad that he could 
eat nothing, besides the ginger nuts were too hard for him. 

It was now decided that John was to come up to the 
Palace the next morning, when the judges and all the council 
would be assembled to hear if he could guess the first riddle. 
If he succeeded the first time, he would have to come twice 
more, but nobody yet had ever guessed the first riddle — he 
had lost his life at once. 

John was not a bit alarmed about himself; he was de- 
lighted, and only thought of the lovely Princess. He felt 
quite certain that the good God would help him but in what 
manner it would be he had not the slightest idea, nor did he 
trouble his head about it. He danced along the high- 
way, when he went back to the inn where his travelling- 
companion was waiting for him. John was never tired of 
telling him how charming the Princess had been towards 
him, and how lovely she was. He was longing for the next 
day to come, when he was to go to the Palace to try his luck 
with the riddles. But his travelling-companion shook his 
head and was quite sad. 

“I am so fond of you,” he said; “ we might have been 
companions for a long time yet, and now I shall lose you 
directly ! My poor dear John, I could weep over you, but 
I will not spoil your pleasure on the last evening we perhaps 
may spend together. We will be merry, as merry as possible ; 
to-morrow when you are gone I can be sad ! ” 

Everybody in the town had heard directly that a new suitor 
had come for the Princess, and there was general mourning. 
The theatre was closed, and all the cakewomen tied black 
crape round the sugar pigs. The King and the priests were 
praying on their knees in the churches, and there was 
universal grief, for they all knew that there could be no better 
fate in store for John than for the other suitors. 

Late in the evening the travelling-companion made a great 
bowl of punch, and said to John that they must be merry 
now and drink the Princess’ health. But when John had 
drunk two glasses he became so sleepy that he could not 


372 The Travelling Companions 

hold up his head, and he fell fast asleep. His travelling- 
companion lifted him quietly up from his chair, and laid him 
on his bed. As soon as it was dark he took the two big 
wings which he had cut off the swan, and tied them on 
to his own shoulders; then he put the biggest bunch 
of twigs he had got from the old woman who had broken 
her leg into his pocket, opened the window, and flew over 
the roofs of the houses right up to the Palace, where he 
sat down in a corner under the window of the Princess’ 
bedroom. 

The whole town was quiet. As the clock struck the 
quarter before twelve the window was opened, and the 
Princess flew out in a great white cloak and long black 
wings. She flew over the town to a great mountain, but the 
travelling-companion made himself invisible and flew behind 
her, raining blows on to her back with his birch rod, till the 
blood flowed. Oh, what a flight that was through the air ; 
the wind caught her cloak, which spread out on every side 
like the sail of a ship, and the moon shone through it. 

“ How it hails, how it hails ! ” said the Princess at every 
blow, but she richly deserved it. 

At last they reached the mountain and knocked ; there 
was a rumble as of thunder, the side of the mountain opened, 
and the Princess went in closely followed by the travelling- 
companion. No one saw him as he was quite invisible. 
They went through a long passage which glittered curiously, 
owing to thousands of shining spiders which swarmed over 
the walls, shedding a fiery light. They next reached a great 
hall built of gold and silver, with red and blue flowers as big 
as sunflowers all over the walls. No one could pick these 
flowers, for the stems were poisonous snakes, and the 
flowers were flames coming out of their mouths. The 
ceiling was covered with shining glow-worms and pale blue 
bats which flapped their transparent wings. This had an 
extraordinary effect. In the middle of the floor was a 
throne supported on four horses’ legs with harness of the 
red fiery spiders. The throne itself was of milky glass, and 
the cushions were made of little black mice holding on to 
each other by the tails. There was a canopy above it of 
rose-coloured spider’s web, dotted with the most exquisite 
little green flies which glittered like diamonds. 

A hideous old ogre sat in the middle of the throne with a 
crown on his ugly head and a sceptre in his hand. He 


The Travelling Companions 373 

kissed the Princess on her forehead, and made her sit down 
by him on the costly throne, then the music began ! Great 
black grasshoppers played upon Jews’ harps, and the owl 
beat upon his own stomach in place of a drum. It was a 
most absurd concert. Numbers of tiny little elves, each 
with a firefly on their little caps, danced round the hall. 
No one could see the travelling-companion, but he could 
see and hear everything from behind the throne, where he 
had placed himself. The courtiers who now made their 
appearance looked most grand and proper, but anyone who 
could really see perceived at once what they were. They 
were merely broomsticks with cabbages for heads, into 
which the ogre had put life by his magic powers and dressed 
them up in embroidered clothes. But this did not matter a 
bit, for they were only used on grand occasions. 

After the dancing had gone on for a time, the Princess 
told the ogre that she had another suitor, and asked him 
what she had better think of to put as a riddle the next day. 

“ Listen ! ” said the ogre ; “ I will tell you what, you must 
think of something very simple, and then he will never 
think of it. Let us say one of your own shoes ; he will 
never guess that. Then have his head chopped off, but 
don’t forget when you come here to-morrow night to bring 
me his eyes. I want to eat them.” 

The Princess curtsied low, and said that she would not 
forget the eyes. The ogre opened the mountain, and she 
flew home again ; and, as before, the travelling-companion 
followed her closely and beat her so hard with the birch rod 
that she groaned at the terrible hailstorm and hurried back 
as fast as she could to her bedroom window. The 
travelling-companion flew back to the inn, where he found 
John still fast asleep. He took off his own clothes and 
went to bed too, for he had good right to be tired. 

John woke quite early in the morning, and the travelling- 
companion got up at the same time, and told him that he 
had had a wonderful dream about the Princess and her 
shoe; and he begged John to ask the Princess if she had 
not thought of her shoe. This was of course what he had 
heard the ogre say in the mountain, but he did not want to 
tell John anything about that, and so he merely told him it 
was a dream. 

“ I may just as well ask that as anything else ! ” said John ; 
“ perhaps your dream will come true, for I always think God 


374 The Travelling Companions 

will help me ! All the same I will say good-bye, for if I 
guess wrong you will never see me again.” 

So they kissed each other, and John went to the town 
and up to the Palace. The hall was full of people; the 
judges were seated in their arm-chairs and they had down 
pillows under their heads for they had so much to think 



about. The old King stood near wiping his eyes with a 
white pocket handkerchief. Then the Princess came in 
greeting everyone very pleasantly, and she was even lovelier 
than yesterday. She shook hands with John and said 


The Travelling Companions 375 

“Good morning to you.” Now John had to guess what 
she had thought of. She looked at him most sweetly, but 
as soon as she heard him say the word shoe, she turned as 
white as a sheet and trembled all over; but that was no 
good, for he had guessed aright. 

Preserve us ! how pleased the old King was, he turned 
head over heels without stopping and everybody clapped 
their hands both on his account and on John’s, whose first 
guess had been right. 

The travelling-companion beamed with delight when he 
heard how successful John had been. But John folded his 
hands and thanked God, who no doubt would also help him 
on the two following occasions. The next day was fixed for 
the second riddle. 

The evening passed just as the previous one had done. 
When John had gone to sleep the travelling-companion flew 
behind the Princess to the mountain, and he beat her harder 
than ever, for this time he had taken two birch rods with 
him. Nobody could see him and he heard everything as 
before. The Princess was to think of her glove, and this he 
told John just as if it had been a dream. John of course 
could easily guess aright and again there was great delight 
at the Palace. The whole court turned somersaults as they 
had seen the King do the first time ; but the Princess lay on 
the sofa and would not say a single word. Now all turned 
upon whether John guessed the third riddle or not. If he 
did, he would win the Princess and inherit the whole king- 
dom when the old King died ; but if he was wrong, he 
would lose his life and the ogre would eat his beautiful blue 
eyes. 

The evening before John went early to bed, said his prayers, 
and slept as peacefully as possible; but the travelling- 
companion tied the wings on to his back, and bound the 
sword round his waist, took all the birch rods, and flew off 
to the Palace. 

It was a pitch dark night. There was such a gale that the 
tiles flew off the roofs, and the trees in the garden of bones 
bent like reeds before the wind. The lightning flashed every 
moment, and the thunder rolled continuously the whole 
night long. The window burst open and the Princess flew 
out ; she was as pale as death, but she laughed at the storm 
as if it were not bad enough ; her white mantle swirled 
about in the wind like the sails of a ship. The travelling- 


376 The Travelling Companions 

companion beat her with his three birches till the blood 
dripped on to the ground. She could hardly fly any further. 
At last they reached the mountain. 

“What a hailstorm there is!” she said as she entered. 
“ I have never been out in such a bad one ! u 

“ One may even have too much of a good thing ! ” said 
the ogre. 

Then she told him that John’s second guess had been 
right, and if he was successful again in the morning she 
would never be able to come and see him again in the 
mountain. Nor would she ever be able to do any 
more of the sorcerer’s tricks as before, and she was very 
sad about it. 

“ He shall never guess it,” said the ogre. 

“ I shall think of something that will never enter his head. 
But we will have some fun first ! ” And he took the Princess 
by both hands and they danced round the room with all the 
little elves and the fireflies. The red spiders ran merrily up 
and down the walls, and the fire flowers seemed to give out 
sparks. The owls played their drums, the crickets chirped, 
and the grasshoppers played their harps. It was a very 
gay ball. 

After they had danced some time the Princess was obliged 
to go home or she would be missed, and the ogre said he 
would go with her so as to have more of her company. 

So away they flew through the storm, and the travelling- 
companion wore out his birch rods on their backs ; never 
had the ogre been out in such a hailstorm. He said good- 
bye to the Princess outside the Palace, and whispered to her, 
“Think of my head,” but the travelling-companion heard 
what he said, and at the very moment when the Princess 
slipped in at her window, and the ogre was turning away to 
go back, he seized him by his long black beard, and before 
he had time to look round cut off his head close to the 
shoulders with his big sword. He threw the body into the 
sea to be food for fishes, but he only dipped the head into 
the water and tied it up in his silk handkerchief and took it 
back to the inn, and he then went to bed. 

Next morning he gave John the handkerchief, but said he 
must not open it before the Princess asked him what she 
had thought about. 

There were so many people in the hall that they were 
packed as close together as a bundle of radishes. The 


The Travelling Companions 377 

judges were sitting in their arm-chairs with the soft down 
cushions ; and the old King had his new clothes on, and his 
crown and sceptre had been polished up and looked quite 
festive. But the Princess was very, very pale, and she was 
dressed in black as if for a funeral. 

“What have I thought of?” she asked John; and he 
immediately untied the handkerchief, and was very much 
frightened himself when he saw the hideous ogre’s head. A 
shudder ran through the whole assemblage, but the Princess 
seemed turned to stone, and could not say a single word. 
At last she got up and gave her hand to John, for he had 
guessed all the riddles ; she looked neither to the right nor 
to the left, but sighed deeply, and said, “You are my master 
now ; our wedding shall take place to-night.” “ I like that,” 
said the old King; “that is just as it should be.” All the 
people shouted hurrah, the guard’s band played in the 
streets, the bells rang, and the cakewomen took the crape 
off the sugar pigs, because all was now rejoicing. Three 
oxen stuffed with chickens and ducks were roasted whole in 
the market-place, and everyone could cut off a portion for 
themselves. The fountains played wine instead of water, 
and anyone who bought a penny roll had six large buns full 
of plums given in. 

In the evening the whole town was illuminated. The 
soldiers fired salutes, and the boys let off squibs and 
crackers. At the Palace all was eating and drinking, toast- 
ing and dancing. The grand gentlemen danced with the 
pretty ladies, and the singing could be heard far and wide. 

But the Princess was still bewitched, and she did not care 
a bit about John ; the travelling-companion knew this, and 
gave him three feathers out of the swan’s wings and a little 
bottle with a few drops of liquid in it. He told John to 
have a large bath full of water placed by the side of the bed, 
and when the Princess was going to get into bed he must 
give her a little push so that she fell into the water, where 
he was to dip her three times, first having thrown the three 
feathers and the drops of liquid into it. She would then be 
released from the spell and would grow very fond of him. 

John did everything as he was told. The Princess 
shrieked when he dipped her into the water, and struggled 
in his hands in the form of a black swan with glittering 
eyes. The second time she came up as a white swan, 
except for a black ring round the neck. John prayed 


378 The Travelling Companions 

humbly to God, and the third time she came up as a lovely 
Princess. She was more lovely than she had been before, 
and thanked him, with tears in her eyes, for having released 
her from the spell. 

Next morning the old King came with all his courtiers 
to offer their congratulations, and this went on all day. 
Last of all came the travelling-companion ; he had his stick 
in his hand and his knapsack on his back. John kissed 
him over and over, and said that he must not go away ; he 
must stay with them, as he was the cause of all their happi- 
ness. But the travelling-companion shook his head, and 
said gently and tenderly, “ No ; my time is up. I have only 
paid my debt. Do you remember the dead man whom you 
prevented the wicked men from disturbing. You gave all 
that you possessed so that he might have rest in his grave. 
I am the dead man ! ” And then he immediately vanished. 

The wedding festivities lasted a whole month. John and 
the Princess were devoted to each other, and the old King 
had many happy days in which to let their little children 
play “ride a cock-horse” on his knee and to play with his 
sceptre. But John was King over the whole country. 



The Ugly Duckling 

The country was lovely just then; it was summer. The 
wheat was golden and the oats still green; the hay was 
stacked in the rich low-lying meadows, where the stork was 
marching about on his long red legs, chattering Egyptian, 
the language his mother had taught him. 

Round about field and meadow lay great woods, in the 
midst of which were deep lakes. Yes, the country certainly 
was delicious. In the sunniest spot stood an old mansion 
surrounded by a deep moat, and great dock leaves grew from 
the walls of the house right down to the water’s edge; some 
of them were so tall that a small child could stand upright 
under them. In amongst the leaves it was as secluded as 
in the depths of a forest ; and there a duck was sitting on 
her nest. Her little ducklings were just about to be hatched, 
but she was nearly tired of sitting, for it had lasted such a 
long time. Moreover, she had very few visitors, as the 
other ducks liked swimming about in the moat better than 
waddling up to sit under the dock leaves and gossip with 
her. 

At last one egg after another began to crack. “ Cheep, 
cheep!” they said. All the chicks had come to life, and 
were poking their heads out. 

“ Quack ! quack ! ” said the duck ; and then they all 
quacked their hardest, and looked about them on all sides 
among the green leaves ; their mother allowed them to look 
as much as they liked, for green is good for the eyes. 

“ How big the world is to be sure ! ” said all the young 
ones; for they certainly had ever so much more room to 
move about, than when they were inside in the eggshell. 

“Do you imagine this is the whole world?” said the 
mother. “ It stretches a long way on the other side of the 
garden, right into the parson’s field ; but I have never been 
as far as that ! I suppose you are all here now ? ” and she got 
up. “ No ! I declare I have not got you all yet ! The biggest 

379 


380 The Ugly Duckling 

egg is still there ; how long is it going to last ? ” and then 
she settled herself on the nest again. 

“ Well, how are you getting on ? ” said an old duck who 
had come to pay her a visit. 

“ This one egg is taking such a long time,” answered the 
sitting duck, “ the shell will not crack ; but now you must 
look at the others ; they are the finest ducklings I have ever 
seen ! they are all exactly like their father, the rascal ! he 
never comes to see me.” 

“ Let me look at the egg which won’t crack,” said the old 
duck. “ You may be sure that it is a turkey’s egg ! I have 
been cheated like that once, and I had no end of trouble 
and worry with the creatures, for I may tell you that they are 
afraid of the water. I could not get them into it, I quacked 
and snapped at them, but it was no good. Let me see the 
egg 1 Yes, it is a turkey’s egg ! You just leave it alone and 
teach the other children to swim.” 

“ I will sit on it a little longer, I have sat so long already, 
that I may as well go on till the Midsummer Fair comes 
round.” 

“ Please yourself,” said the old duck, and she went away. 

At last the big egg cracked. “Cheep, cheep !” said the 
young one and tumbled out ; how big and ugly he was ! 
The duck looked at him. 

“ That is a monstrous big duckling,” she said ; “ none of 
the others looked like that ; can he be a turkey chick ? well 
we shall soon find that out ; into the water he shall go, if I 
have to kick him in myself.” 

Next day was gloriously fine, and the sun shone on all the 
green dock leaves. The mother duck with her whole family 
went down to the moat. 

Splash, into the water she sprang. “ Quack, quack ! ” she 
said, and one duckling plumped in after the other. The 
water dashed over their heads, but they came up again and 
floated beautifully ; their legs went of themselves, and they 
were all there, even the big ugly grey one swam about with them. 

“No, that is no turkey,” she said; “see how beautifully 
he uses his legs and how erect he holds himself : he is my 
own chick ! after all, he is not so bad when you come to 
look at him properly. Quack, quack ! Now come with me 
and I will take you into the world, and introduce you to the 
duckyard ; but keep close to me all the time, so that no one 
may tread upon you, and beware of the cat ! ” 


The Ugly Duckling 381 

Then they went into the duckyard. There was a fearful 
uproar going on, for two broods were fighting for the head 
of an eel, and in the end the cat captured it. 

“That’s how things go in this world,” said the mother 
duck, and she licked her bill for she wanted the eel’s head 
herself. 

“ Use your legs,” said she ; “ mind you quack properly, 
and bend your necks to the old duck over there ! She is 
the grandest of them all ; she has Spanish blood in her veins 
and that accounts for her size, and, do you see ? she has a 
red rag round her leg ; that is a wonderfully fine thing, 
and the most extraordinary mark of distinction any duck 
can have. It shows clearly that she is not to be parted 
with, and that she is worthy of recognition both by beasts 
and men ! Quack now ! don’t turn your toes in, a well 
brought up duckling keeps his legs wide apart just like 
father and mother ; that’s it, now bend your necks, and say 
quack ! ” 

They did as they were bid, but the other ducks round 
about looked at them and said, quite loud; “Just look 
there 1 now we are to have that tribe ! just as if there were 
not enough of us already, and, oh dear ! how ugly that duck- 
ling is, we won’t stand him ! ” and a duck flew at him at 
once and bit him in the neck. 

“ Let him be,” said the mother; “he is doing no harm.” 

“ Very likely not, but he is so ungainly and queer,” said 
the biter ; “he must be whacked.” 

“ They are handsome children mother has,” said the old 
duck with the rag round her leg ; “ all good looking except 
this one, and he is not a good specimen ; it’s a pity you 
can’t make him over again.” 

“ That can’t be done, your grace,” said the mother duck ; 
“ he is not handsome, but he is a thorough good creature, 
and he swims as beautifully as any of the others ; nay, 1 
think I might venture even to add that I think he will im- 
prove as he goes on, or perhaps in time he may grow 
smaller ! he was too long in the egg, and so he has not come 
out with a very good figure.” And then she patted his 
neck and stroked him down. “ Besides he is a drake,” 
said she ; “ so it does not matter so much. I believe he 
will be very strong, and I don’t doubt but he will make his 
way in the world.” 

“ The other ducklings are very pretty,” said the old duck.. 


382 The Ugly Duckling 

“ Now make yourselves quite at home, and if you find the 
head of an eel you may bring it to me ! ” 

After that they felt quite at home. But the poor duckling 
which had been the last to come out of the shell, and who 
was so ugly, was bitten, pushed about, and made fun of both 
by the ducks and the hens. “ He is too big,” they all said ; 
and the turkey-cock, who was born with his spurs on, and 
therefore thought himself quite an emperor, puffed himself 
up like a vessel in full sail, made for him, and gobbled and 
gobbled till he became quite red in the face. The poor 
duckling was at his wit’s end, and did not know which way 
to turn ; he was in despair because he was so ugly, and the 
butt of the whole duckyard. 

So the first day passed, and afterwards matters grew worse 
and worse. The poor duckling was chased and hustled by 
all of them, even his brothers and sisters ill-used him ; and 
they were always saying, “If only the cat would get hold of 
you, you hideous object ! ” Even his mother said, “ I wish 
to goodness you were miles away.” The ducks bit him, the 
hens pecked him, and the girl who fed them kicked him aside. 

Then he ran off and flew right over the hedge, where the 
little birds flew up into the air in a fright. 

“ That is because I am so ugly,” thought the poor duck- 
ling, shutting his eyes, but he ran on all the same. Then 
he came to a great marsh where the wild ducks lived ; he 
was so tired and miserable that he stayed there the whole 
night. 

In the morning the wild ducks flew up to inspect their 
new comrade. 

“ What sort of a creature are you ? ” they inquired, as the 
duckling turned from side to side and greeted them as well 
as he could. “You are frightfully ugly,” said the wild 
ducks ; “ but that does not matter to us, so long as you do 
not marry into our family!” Poor fellow! he had no 
thought of marriage, all he wanted was permission to lie 
among the rushes, and to drink a little of the marsh water. 

He stayed there two whole days, then two wild geese 
came, or rather two wild ganders, they were not long out of 
the shell, and therefore rather pert. 

“ I say, comrade,” they said, “ you are so ugly that we 
have taken quite a fancy to you ; will you join us and be a 
bird of passage? There is another marsh close by, and 
there are some charming wild geese there ; all sweet young 


The Ugly Duckling 383 

ladies, who can say quack ! You are ugly enough to make 
your fortune among them.” Just at that moment, bang! 
bang ! was heard up above, and both the wild geese fell 
dead among the reeds, and the water turned blood red. 
Bang ! bang ! went the guns, and whole flocks of wild 
geese flew up from the rushes and the shot peppered among 
them again. 

There w r as a grand shooting party, and the sportsmen lay 
hidden round the marsh, some even sat on the branches of 
the trees which overhung the water ; the blue smoke rose 
like clouds among the dark trees and swept over the pool. 

The water-dogs wandered about in the swamp, splash ! 
splash ! The rushes and reeds bent beneath their tread on 
all sides. It was terribly alarming to the poor duckling. 
He twisted his head round to get it under his wing and just 
at that moment a frightful, big dog appeared close beside 
him ; his tongue hung right out of his mouth and his eyes 
glared wickedly. He opened his great chasm of a mouth 
close to the duckling, showed his sharp teeth — and — splash 
— went on without touching him. 

“ Oh, thank Heaven ! ” sighed the duckling, “ I am so 
ugly that even the dog won’t bite me ! ” 

Then he lay quite still while the shot whistled among the 
bushes, and bang after bang rent the air. It only became 
quiet late in the day, but even then the poor duckling did 
not dare to get up ; he waited several hours more before he 
looked about and then he hurried away from the marsh as 
fast as he could. He ran across fields and meadows, and 
there was such a wind that he had hard work to make his 
way. 

Towards night he reached a poor little cottage ; it was 
such a miserable hovel that it could not make up its mind 
which way to fall even, and so it remained standing. The 
wind whistled so fiercely round the duckling that he had 
to sit on his tail to resist it, and it blew harder and harder ; 
then he saw that the door had fallen off one hinge and hung 
so crookedly that he could creep into the house through the 
crack and by this means he made his way into the room. 
An old woman lived there with her cat and her hen. The 
cat, w’hich she called “Sonnie,” could arch his back, purr, 
and give off electric sparks, that is to say if you stroked his 
fur the wrong way. The hen had quite tiny short legs and 
so she was called “ Chuckie-low-legs.” She laid good eggs, 


384 The Ugly Duckling 

and the old woman was as fond of her as if she had been 
her own child. 

In the morning the strange duckling was discovered im- 
mediately, and the cat began to purr and the hen to cluck. 

“ What on earth is that ! ” said the old woman looking 
round, but her sight was not good and she thought the 
duckling was a fat duck which had escaped. “This is a 
capital find,” said she ; “ now I shall have duck’s eggs if 
only it is not a drake ! we must find out about that ! ” 

So she took the duckling on trial for three weeks, but 
no eggs made their appearance. The cat was the master of 
the house and the hen the mistress, and they always spoke 
of “ we and the w r orld,” for they thought that they repre- 
sented the half of the world, and that quite the better half. 

The duckling thought there might be two opinions on 
the subject, but the cat would not hear of it. 

“ Can you lay eggs ? ” she asked. 

“ No!” 

“ Will you have the goodness to hold your tongue then ! ” 

And the cat said, “ Can you arch your back, purr, or give 
off sparks ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Then you had better keep your opinions to yourself when 
people of sense are speaking ! ” 

The duckling sat in the corner nursing his ill-humour ; 
then he began to think of the fresh air and the sunshine, 
an uncontrollable longing seized him to float on the water, 
and at last he could not help telling the hen about it. 

“ What on earth possesses you ? ” she asked ; “ you have 
nothing to do, that is why you get these freaks into your 
head. Lay some eggs or take to purring, and you will 
get over it.” 

“ But it is so delicious to float on the water,” said the 
duckling; “so delicious to feel it rushing over your head 
when you dive to the bottom.” 

“ That would be a fine amusement,” said the hen. “ I 
think you have gone mad. Ask the cat about it, he is the 
wisest creature I know ; ask him if he is fond of floating on 
the water or diving under it. I say nothing about myself. 
Ask our mistress yourself, the old woman, there is no one 
in the world cleverer than she is. Do you suppose she has 
any desire to float on the water, or to duck underneath it ? ” 

“You do not understand me,” said the duckling. 


The Ugly Duckling 385 

“Well, if we don’t understand you, who should? I 
suppose you don’t consider yourself cleverer than the cat 
or the old woman, not to mention me. Don’t make a fool 
of yourself, child, and thank your stars for all the good we 
have done you ! Have you not lived in this warm room, 
and in such society that you might have learnt something ? 
But you are an idiot, and there is no pleasure in associating 
with you. You may believe me I mean you well, I tell you 
home truths, and there is no surer way than that, of knowing 
who are one’s friends. You just see about laying some 
eggs, or learn to purr, or to emit sparks.” 

“ I think I will go out into the wide world,” said the 
duckling. 

“ Oh, do so by all means,” said the hen. 

So away went the duckling, he floated on the water and 
ducked underneath it, but he was looked askance at 
by every living creature for his ugliness. Now the autumn 
came on, the leaves in the woods turned yellow and brown ; 
the wind took hold of them, and they danced about. The 
sky looked very cold, and the clouds hung heavy with snow 
and hail. A raven stood on the fence and croaked Caw ! 
Caw ! from sheer cold ; it made one shiver only to think of 
it, the poor duckling certainly was in a bad case. 

One evening, the sun was just setting in wintry splendour, 
when a flock of beautiful large birds appeared out of the 
bushes ; the duckling had never seen anything so beautiful. 
They were dazzlingly white with long waving necks ; they 
were swans, and uttering a peculiar cry they spread out 
their magnificent broad wings and flew away from the cold 
regions to warmer lands and open seas. They mounted 
so high, so very high, and the ugly little duckling became 
strangely uneasy, he circled round and round in the water 
like a wheel, craning his neck up into the air after them. 
Then he uttered a shriek so piercing and so strange, that he 
was quite frightened by it himself. Oh, he could not forget 
those beautiful birds, those happy birds, and as soon as 
they were out of sight he ducked right down to the bottom, 
and when he came up again he was quite beside himself. 
He did not know what the birds were, or whither they flew, 
but all the same he was more drawn towards them than he 
had ever been by any creatures before. He did not envy 
them in the least, how could it occur to him even to wish 
to be such a marvel of beauty ; he would have been thank- 


386 The Ugly Duckling 

ful if only the ducks would have tolerated him among them 
— the poor ugly creature ! 

The winter was so bitterly cold that the duckling was 
obliged to swim about in the water to keep it from freezing, 
but every night the hole in which he swam got smaller and 
smaller. Then it froze so hard that the surface ice cracked, 
and the duckling had to use his legs all the time, so that 
the ice should not close in round him ; at last he was so 
weary that he could move no more, and he was frozen fast 
into the ice. 

Early in the morning a peasant came along and saw 
him ; he went out on to the ice and hammered a hole in it 
with his heavy wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home 
to his wife. There it soon revived. The children wanted 
to play with it, but the duckling thought they were going to 
ill-use him, and rushed in his fright into the milk pan, and 
the milk spurted out all over the room. The woman 
shrieked and threw up her hands, then it flew into the 
butter cask, and down into the meal tub and out again. 
Just imagine what it looked like by this time I The woman 
screamed and tried to hit it with the tongs, and the 
children tumbled over one another in trying to catch it, 
and they screamed with laughter — by good luck the door 
stood open, and the duckling flew out among the bushes 
and the new fallen snow — and it lay there thoroughly 
exhausted. 

But it would be too sad to mention all the privation and 
misery it had to go through during that hard winter. When 
the sun began to shine warmly again, the duckling was in 
the marsh, lying among the rushes ; the larks were singing 
and the beautiful spring had come. 

Then all at once it raised its wings and they flapped with 
much greater strength than before, and bore him off vigor- 
ously. Before he knew where he was, he found himself in 
a large garden where the apple trees were in full blossom, 
and the air was scented with lilacs, the long branches of 
which overhung the indented shores of the lake ! Oh ! the 
spring freshness was so delicious ! 

Just in front of him he saw three beautiful white swans 
advancing towards him from a thicket ; with rustling 
feathers they swam lightly over the water. The duckling 
recognized the majestic birds, and he was overcome by a 
strange melancholy. 


The Ugly Duckling 387 

“ I will fly to them, the royal birds, and they will hack 
me to pieces, because I, who am so ugly, venture to 
approach them ! But it won’t matter ; better be killed by 
them than be snapped at by the ducks, pecked by the hens, 
or spurned by the henwife, or suffer so much misery in the 
winter.” 

So he flew into the water and swam towards the stately 
swans ; they saw him and darted towards him with ruffled 
feathers. 

“Kill me, oh, kill me!” said the poor creature, and 
bowing his head towards the water he awaited his death. 
But what did he see reflected in the transparent water? 

He saw below him his own image, but he was no longer 
a clumsy dark grey bird, ugly and ungainly, he was himself 
a swan ! It does not matter in the least having been born 
in a duckyard, if only you come out of a swan’s egg ! 

He felt quite glad of all the misery and tribulation he 
had gone through ; he was the better able to appreciate his 
good fortune now, and all the beauty which greeted him. 
The big swans swam round and round him, and stroked him 
with their bills. 

Some little children came into the garden with corn and 
pieces of bread, which they threw into the water ; and the 
smallest one cried out : “ There is a new one ! ” The other 
children shouted with joy, “Yes, a new one has come!” 
And they clapped their hands and danced about, running 
after their father and mother. They threw the bread into 
the water, and one and all said that “the new one was the 
prettiest ; he was so young and handsome.” And the old 
swans bent their heads and did homage before him. 

He felt quite shy, and hid his head under his wing; he 
did not know what to think ; he was so very happy, but 
not at all proud ; a good heart never becomes proud. He 
thought of how he had been pursued and scorned, and now 
he heard them all say that he was the most beautiful of 
all beautiful birds. The lilacs bent their boughs right down 
into the water before him, and the bright sun was warm 
and cheering, and he rustled his feathers and raised his 
slender neck aloft, saying with exultation in his heart: “I 
never dreamt of so much happiness when I was the Ugly 
Duckling ! ” 


Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 

BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND 
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. 








































































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